


The Consequence Of Sounds

by YeahAlrightDude



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YeahAlrightDude/pseuds/YeahAlrightDude
Summary: Gordon attempts to return to a normal life post-incident. Which should be easy - except for one glaring problem: Benry won’t leave him alone.Or, another post-canon, not actually a game AU. *shrug*
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Gordon Freeman/Original Female Characters(s) (Past)
Comments: 364
Kudos: 1050





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so some things of note,  
> 1) I don’t know anything about half life canon, we making it up as we go lads  
> 2) I know there’s already a lot of fanfics like this - but as a fanfic reader I’m always very “Holy shit, two cakes!” about stories I like, so whatever.  
> 3) This is my first fanfic! Let me know if I fuck it up. Also shout out to that other guy who posted a fic for this fandom a couple days ago who said it was their first fic lmao twinsies
> 
> (EDITED on 7/15/2020: I went back and rewrote this chapter after publishing chapter 10 because the writing style here compared to later updates was preeeetty different and I think the first chapter especially should convey the rest of the work. So if this look different to you, that's why. However, that does mean an extra ~2k words was added - which sure makes Benry's one second of screen time in this first chapter EXTRA funny)
> 
> (UPDATE on 8/10/2020: This story is now on indefinite hiatus, sorry everyone :( It was fun while I could still work on it, but I want to warn any new readers that I don't plan to continue it.)

What does one do after the end of the world?

It was a strange question to ask in the middle of a shitty family restaurant, in the middle of what was supposed to be a  _ party _ , but strange was the new normal for Gordon Freeman.

He’d only just been through an event that had torn asunder the veil between dimensions, that had left him crawling through the remnants of his once-workplace. With his eccentric companions, his only lifelines, he’d  _ murdered _ his way out of Black Mesa. Through aliens, soldiers, innocent bystanders, whatever it took to reach the end, whatever it took to reach for that last dying light of hope. 

Even as his death bore down upon him - a huge, alien form set on tearing him limb from limb out of pure spite - he’d still continued on.

But now what? After all the brutal fights and searing pain, the treaties and betrayals - after stepping through alien worlds, convincing himself that he was ready for the death that lay before him - what was he supposed to do?

Go home, he supposed.

It had been surprisingly straight-forward. He’d reminded the other scientists that he was exhausted, pleaded for a chance to rest, and they’d simply nodded in agreement. No resistance, it was just as simple as announcing his intent to leave. 

He should have left earlier, but maybe he’d been too bruised to the core to assume it would work. He'd spent the entire afternoon convinced that at any moment the next bomb would be dropped, that enemies would start streaming into the Chuck E. Cheese, but there had been nothing. 

Not even Benry showed up.

There - there had been a skeleton there, but the others had made fun of him for thinking it was the security guard when he'd mentioned it. Obviously that was just a  _ normal _ skeleton, whatever that meant. 

Benry was dead.

Benry was dead and it was  _ over _ , and, somehow, wonderfully, magically, he could finally go home. After being force-fed cheap pizza, watching whatever remaining Coomer clones lived break it down on the dance floor, and wading through the creepiest Minion animatronics - they just  _ let him leave _ .

Of course, not without some semblance of goodbye: a proper “Bye, Mr. Freeman, see you later!” from Tommy, a firm grip on his arm, an intent stare, and a cheerful, “You’ll keep in contact, right Gordon?” from Dr. Coomer, and a dismissive “Are you leaving yet?” from Bubby - then he had wandered into the parking lot, mumbling a quick “uh, happy birthday” as he went.

And if he faltered, looked over his shoulder too many times as he ventured back towards society, wondering why no one was following him - that was neither here nor there. 

It was weird to be… alone, all of a sudden. But that didn’t make the solitude upsetting, nor did it mean he  _ wanted _ them to follow him, frankly. 

He  _ wasn’t _ upset, just tired. So very tired.

It had been early evening when he first stumbled into the city streets, unsure of his new place in the world. At first, he’d figured he’d been transported to some distant city, or perhaps another dimension - trapped once more on an alien world, adrift from all he'd once known. But, no, despite all odds the world still seemed to turn on the same axis, and moreover he wasn’t far from  _ home _ .

See, he’d been lucky - for once. A bus stop, not too far from the Chuck E. Cheese, had been kind enough to  _ exist _ , blissfully devoid of other riders. He’d questioned the first bus driver foolish enough to make the stop, stumbling through the question, too busy pushing away thoughts of the driver's head exploding into a thousand gory bits. That was what he'd grown accustomed to, after all: a cruel death for any stranger that tried to guide him.

But he was alone, and so the driver's head stayed on his shoulders.

The question itself had apparently been a concerning one - “Where am I?” - and the unwashed, bloodied, bright-orange HEV suit likely hadn’t helped. So he was barred from the bus. Not that it mattered much, he didn’t have any money on him anyway. But the universe had granted him some small mercy: he was within walking distance of his apartment.

Walking distance was still an hour and a half on shaky legs, but that was almost tolerable after the sheer enormity of what had happened. The ache in his bones had grown past the need to complain, suffering was just an inherent part of who he was now. Still, it was another insufferable point towards the theory that his life had become some textbook’s morbid example of Murphy’s Law. 

Nonetheless, with no other option in sight, he walked.

The journey had been peaceful, if he dared to call it that. The sun set lazily in the sky as he dragged himself along, washing the pseudo-city landscape in an orange, then blue, glow. With few cars on the road, he could almost believe he was isolated from the world. Almost, save for the slight sound of conversation in passing windows, the rustling of bushes, and the distant echo of honking; each and every noise terrifying, a sign of potential danger waiting around the corner.

His eyes scanned for any sign of danger, turning shadows into ghosts and silhouettes into soldiers, and could he really be blamed for that? At least it was late enough on a Wednesday night that most people would be in bed, out of the streets, ignorant of the catastrophe narrowly avoided.

He only knew it was Wednesday because he’d checked at the Chuck E. Cheese. The resonance cascade had happened on a Thursday. He’d been fighting for his life for nearly a week.

That was something he made the distinct choice  **_not_ ** to think about. He didn’t wonder if more aliens were coming, if he would be hunted down, or anything of the sort. He didn’t think over what had happened the last week, about the scientists, about Black Mesa, about  _ Benry _ . It was a conscious decision to suppress the part of him that wanted desperately to over think and react to everything. He’d been doing that all week - he just didn’t have it left in him. 

Instead he had focused on his footsteps, listening to the sounds of the night falling around him, and tried to stop jumping at any small change in his environment.

At one point he’d walked past a pitch-black alley cat, almost frightened to death when it leveled a deep  _ Maou  _ at him as he passed. It could have been an opportunity, a sign, maybe, that he didn’t need to be afraid any longer. Maybe the world really was back to normal, where the worst beasts he’d meet would be nothing more than house pets.

Testing the theory, he’d reached down to coo at it, which had earned him a harsh hiss and a near-miss swipe of claws. 

Figures, everything hated him.

But it wasn’t long until he was walking up familiar, old, rickety stairs, counting the apartment numbers one by one - 220, 221,  _ 222 _ \- and finally crawling through his unlocked bedroom window.

And then, there he was - home.

The air in his apartment was heavy, stagnant after a week left vacant, but his lungs still rejoiced at the sensation, taking deep breaths as his feet met carpet. Because he was back, because he was  _ alive _ , and wasn’t that beyond all belief? He desperately needed to feel that air on his skin, to free himself of his exoskeleton and be blissfully  _ normal _ , to rejoin the world he’d almost left behind.

He needed the hazard suit off, immediately.

The damned thing scratched and pulled the whole way, offering up only resistance as he clawed at the edges and groves along its carapace, prying apart the pieces he already knew were removable. It was a taxing ordeal, another shred of evidence that the universe couldn’t give him any reward without equal punishment, but eventually the little tabs holding the suit together gave way. Tiny clicks echoed in the still room as the subsections fell to his bedroom carpet, the viscera that clung to them now sticking to the tufts of fabric.

He’d worry about the mess later, what mattered was freeing himself of his captor. And good  _ god _ was it a relief. 

It was strange, feeling lighter than he had in years, hyper aware of every small sensation on skin that hadn’t been touched in a week. He dwelled on that, the way fingertips traced down forearms, enamored with the way the slight breeze from his window flicked across his back. He felt compelled to touch along his legs, to feel non-gloved hands on his face, to run one hand’s fingers along the ridges of another hand that was miraculously  _ still there _ .

But there were more pressing pains, human needs more deep-seated than even the need to  _ feel _ . Escaping the HEV suit may have partially aided the headache he’d been sporting for days, but he’d need to do more before that ache would leave him for good.

See, he wasn’t hungry, that wasn’t the problem. Chuck E. Cheese pizza hadn’t exactly provided the most nutritious first meal back from hell, but Tommy’s father hadn’t spared on the expense - it was very much all you can eat. And he could admit that he’d gorged himself a bit, acting like a man on the brink of starvation - because, for fuck’s sake, he  _ was _ .

The refreshments, however, had been purely soda based. Because, of course they would be. But that wasn’t exactly hydrating, especially after a week of  _ only _ soda. So, he was dehydrated to all hell, which was definitely the source of his pounding headache. 

Well, that and stress - but he’d already settled on a temporary solution for the whirling cacophony of paranoia and fear playing out in his mind: ignoring it completely.

And, so, almost in a trance, he found himself stumbling through the darkness of the master bedroom, past the door into his kitchen, stopping only briefly to marvel at his apartment. It was pristine, just the way he left it. And somehow, it was  _ real _ . That was as astonishing as it was obvious, but he’d almost been too cautious to hope. And now he was  _ here _ .

He let that sink in while he navigated clumsily around his kitchen table, letting muscle memory lead him to the sink. It was pristine as well, a big metal basin, and he thanked his past self for having the good sense to wash the dishes the night before the incident. Not that it would have mattered much, he wasn’t going to bother with a cup, but the cleanliness of it all was doing him wonders. So different to Black Mesa, where nothing was  _ really _ clean, all covered in grime and gore instead.

The faucet squeaked in admonishment as he frantically turned it, but he was soon scooping palmful after palmful of water towards his chapped lips. There was the slight tinge of metal to it, tap water that was clearly a bit dirty, but by god it was the freshest thing he’d tasted in  _ days _ . It was almost addictive, he couldn’t get it to his mouth fast enough. The frantic movement sloshed and spilled the water over him, covering the counter and his chest in the process, but he didn’t stop until nausea threatened to take over. 

Too much water in the system at once, but too much didn’t feel like enough.

For just a moment he steadied himself, allowing his body to re-stabilize. Then, drawn only by impulse, he scooped up another palms’ worth of water, brought it up to his mouth, and-

“BbBbBbBbBbBBBBbbb”

Rivulets of water trickled down the counter cabinets, glittering in the dark. There was a split second where he caught his reflection glaring back at him from the sink, giving a patronizing look that said ‘Look what you’ve done, you’re soaked.’ but he didn’t  _ care _ . He was  _ laughing _ , short and wheezing, but it still tugged at the corner of his lips. All alone in his apartment, giggling at a dumb inside joke from a week he was actively working to repress.

How strange was it to feel joy about anything that had happened? He  _ shouldn’t _ really, but maybe he was just too tired to be rational.

Well, he was at least rational enough to take stock of his situation. Squeezing the faucet shut, he turned back around to face the reality of his apartment, taking in the darkness. 

He’d neglected to turn the lights on, and it only just occurred to him how stupid that was. Any number of secrets could lay in the shadows, monsters and men alike, just waiting for him to wander blithely into their grasp. Something could have snuck up behind him as he stood there playing with water or -

No, nothing was going to attack him here. 

He’d told himself he was going to stop thinking about it, he  _ needed _ to stop thinking about it, because he deserved even that fleeting relief.

Forcing the ball of anxiety rising in his throat back down, he flicked on the living room light, just to prove to himself there was nothing to fear. Body slumped against the kitchen table intersecting the two rooms, he blinked into the brightness, letting the moment tick away, stock still until his eyes readjusted behind his frames.

Everything was quiet, for once. At Black Mesa, even when they’d ‘rest’ there’d be noise: the crackle of dangerous equipment, the pitter-patter of nuclear waste falling on the metal floor, the distant sound of aliens, soldiers, who knows what else. Occasionally, he’d hear the far off tell-tale ring of a Black Mesa Sweet Voice, in worse times he’d hear a very near Black Mesa Sweet Voice.

Now all he could hear was the dull hum of the electricity in his apartment walls.

At least, he was hoping that was what he was hearing. That or he had tinnitus.

He was hoping he didn’t have tinnitus.

Not that it’d be surprising. Hearing damage wasn’t out of the realm of possibility between the constant explosions, gunfire, loud companions, his own louder yelling, and - and -

And, he’d decided he wasn’t going to think about it. So he was going to do just that. Gordon instead took to properly surveilling his apartment, letting it serve as a distraction. There certainly didn’t seem to be any intruders masterfully hidden in his modest 2-bedroom apartment, but it’d be absurd if there was. It was too sparsely decorated to find any good cover, for one, the living space only consisting of a TV, table, and couch. 

He distinctly remembered almost tossing the table at one point, thinking that he didn’t need two tables in the conjoined space between his kitchen and living room, and he only realized now how pathetic that was. Since when was two tables too many?

After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t have  _ guests _ . To his left sat the entrance to Joshua’s room - the guest room? Either way it was rarely used, but currently it was - well, if there were any intruders they’d be behind that closed door. He’d need to check, not just for assailants, but just to make sure it still existed, or to make sure it wasn’t filled with dead bodies, or something. Some rational voice in his mind reminded him that the idea of anything being different behind the door was absurd, that it didn’t make sense, but he’d learnt not to presume sense had any bearing on reality. He just needed to check.

But maybe first he should - right, to the right of the living room stood his bedroom, complete with a master bathroom.  _ The master bathroom _ . God he needed a shower, he definitely stank.

It was difficult to pry his eyes away from the sight before him, though. The walls, the furniture, all slightly off and dream-like - he couldn’t believe that he was  _ back _ , wanted to run his hands along every corner the same way he’d inspected himself. Touching until the physicality of it all sank in, reminding his nerves what it was like to be safe, but he knew he’d have all the time in the world for that.

Wasn’t that a thought - all the time in the world, he couldn’t have counted on that only a few hours ago.

Still, he needed rest more than anything, and he wasn’t going to sleep covered in gunk. Gordon moved to detach himself from the kitchen table, only realizing then how he’d been unconsciously boring his elbows into it, clenching his jaw. 

That was something he needed to intentionally avoid, so he focused on relaxing his muscles as his body wandered towards his bathroom. His teeth had been ground together for days, it was a wonder the events of Black Mesa hadn’t reduced them to dust. That was probably reason number three for the continuing headache.

When cold linoleum tiles met his bare feet, he finally started to peel off what remained of his work uniform. Protected by the HEV suit, his under clothes had thankfully avoided all the grime, blood, and guts; all except for a darkened ring of red splotched around the right arm of his -

No, he wasn’t thinking about it, wouldn’t think about exposed meat and jagged metal, about the heat of an overloaded gun against exposed nerves. 

His clothes were, however, absolutely soaked with sweat. A week’s worth of sweat, specifically. He wholeheartedly considered just tossing them, not that they were too gross to wash but - 

Well, maybe he’d toss the shirt. 

Actually, screw it - he unceremoniously dropped the load of laundry directly into his tiny bathroom trash basket, a problem for a later version of himself. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just buy new clothes.

What came next was the important part, any other concerns could wait, because stepping into the steaming spray of water felt like stepping into a  _ dream _ . A thousand tiny droplets hit his back until finally his muscles began to relax, lulling his senses, as what remained of Black Mesa seeped off of him. It was heavenly, soul-cleansing, a massage he hadn’t known he needed. Surrounded by the heat and soft patter of water, he considered briefly falling asleep right then and there.

But, no, he wasn’t looking to drown in his sleep - though it would be a pleasant way to go. He just needed to be clean - clean enough to rest on his actual bed, drifting away until he was finally ready to face the world once more.

The shower probably lasted longer than necessary, but every inch of his body needed to be free of the hell he’d just crawled out of. Desperate fingers in his hair, somehow rough and weary all at once, insistent on removing all of the grease and -  _ how did so much blood get in his hair _ ? Oils and chemicals scrubbed from his face, skin rubbed raw, but he was looking forward to the feeling of dry skin. Slightly painful and cracked, but above all  _ clean _ , which is what really mattered.

Even with the desperate washing, there was still the ghost of grime on his skin. It followed him out of the shower, stuck awkwardly to the towels he patted himself dry with. A dirtiness more imagined than real. Maybe it would feel like that for some time, a dim reminder of his brush with death, but he wasn’t about to let it dampen the bubbling relief of being washed.

The shifting of air against his damp hair, the wondrous normalcy of it - like removing the HEV suit, he’d peeled away yet another layer of Black Mesa from his skin. It was  _ good _ .

Not to discount how nice it was to then add new layers on top. Pulling on the first pair of sweatpants he found in his dresser felt like wrapping himself in velvet. God, he’d missed  _ softness _ . The luxury of it, of being cradled by little comforts.

He wanted to sleep  _ so badly _ , wanted to envelop himself in the sanctuary of his bed. But there was a remaining issue, a checkbox left unchecked, and he needed to rectify that.

He still needed to check Joshua’s room.

Leveling a longing glance at his bed that meant ‘I’ll be back for you ASAP, babe’, he turned to make his way back to the living room, slowly heading towards the closed door that loomed over his subconscious. 

Thinking of the guest room filled him with dread, setting off a thousand warning alarms in his brain, but that was why he needed to  _ know _ . The part of him that was smart, the part of him that was - had once been - a scientist, knew there wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. But, it was worth checking, right? Just to be sure, open palm against the door knob, just a quick peek to see if -

**_-KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK-_ **

_ What the fuck?  _

_ Who _ the fuck? 

The abrupt pounding on Gordon’s apartment door had sent his entire body jumping from the bedroom like it had attempted to bite him, his heart stammering heavily in his chest. Panic rose in his throat like bile; was it the police, what remained of the US military, some alien overlords? Maybe Tommy’s father, whatever his fucking name was, he couldn’t remember. 

He didn’t need this - he wasn’t  **_ready_ ** . 

He’d face it all eventually, not that he wanted to but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d be accomplice to an alien invasion and a thousand unnecessary deaths and just  _ get away with it _ . But every cell in his body screamed at him to crawl back to bed and pretend  _ none  _ of this had ever happened.

No, they’d just break down the door. He’d just have to face the firing squad.

His legs almost failed him, almost sending him tumbling face first into a wall, but before he knew it he was at his apartment entrance. Practically flinging himself upon his front door, pushing open the frame, at least hoping for a swift shotgun to the head by whoever greeted him - at least then it’d be  _ quick _ .

But instead of death, he was met only with the cool, dry, night air. The sound of crickets filled the seconds as Gordon stood staring at nothing.

Sorry, was he being  _ pranked _ ?

He blinked, once, twice, his body still working through the adrenaline. 

No one had left anything, and peering past the door frame revealed nothing from his neighbors. Not that it made sense for anyone to be making a house call anyway, it was past quiet hours for sure. 

Still, that was… irritating. Had one of his neighbors dropped something and he’d mistaken it for knocking? Or had some kid  _ genuinely _ thought the middle of the night was a good time to ding dong ditch? A familiar indignance filled the space where dread had lived a moment past, each possibility only more annoying than the last. In theory no one could’ve known how he’d feel about something as innocent as knocking, but god, was it too much to ask for some common decency? 

He retreated back into his apartment, pettily slamming his front door as he did. That was sure to show them. Or, sure to make his neighbors hate him, he didn’t care which.

He oriented himself back towards the task at hand, trying to ignore the way his heart still sputtered out of beat. He had been just about to check Joshua’s room - at least the leftover adrenaline would help him get it over with, that sudden shift from caution to exasperation.

But when he stalked back to the guest bedroom, carelessly throwing open the door, he found -

A perfectly normal room. 

A queen bed - probably too big for a kid of Joshua’s age, but Joshua always seemed excited about that, like he was being allowed to do a secret grown-up thing by sleeping in it - sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by light blue walls that appeared gray in the darkness. The sheets were still haphazardly made, Gordon was never that organized, and on the floor sat a couple misplaced toys. 

The room was mostly barren otherwise, only things Gordon had bought for his son, his ex wasn’t the sort to let Josh’s belongings stay behind. She and him… weren’t close enough for that, not anymore.

Scooping up a toy alien from the carpet, he felt his face slacken into a grimace. ‘Looks a bit shit’ he thought, unable to catch himself. He used to be really into aliens, who wouldn’t be? Turns out aliens fucking suck - no enlightening first contact, no shared knowledge of the cosmos, just zombies and killing. 

He’d really tried to convince Joshua that this toy was awesome, that aliens were awesome. A surprisingly good listener for his age, the kid had smiled and nodded along as Gordon rambled about other worlds and physics in what he’d  _ assumed _ was a child-friendly manner. But like most five year olds, when all was said and done, Joshua had only responded with an “oh, okay” - and continued to be much more into dinosaurs.

Five year olds are funny like that, or maybe just Joshua was - little endearing mannerisms that painted his perception of the age group. Maybe that was what had led him to jokingly suggest that Tommy was five years old as well. In retrospect that seemed… very rude. He had been stressed, and it felt like something someone could say that sounded a lot less strange than: “oh, you kind of remind me of my son.” 

Something nagged at him about that, reminded him that he could have just said nothing, but that wasn’t his strong suit. He was… impulsive with his words, he could admit that.

But there was something else there, a notion - would Joshua and Tommy… like each other? He didn’t know if Tommy was good with, or even liked, kids. He knew Joshua would  _ love _ Sunkist, pet obsessed as he was, all waving hands and giddy smiles even at something as boring as a bearded dragon. 

Usually, he’d try to discourage any notion that the kid might get a pet, but it was hard to think of discouraging Joshua in anything at the moment. He  _ desperately _ wanted to see him, would happily buy him all the lizards he wanted if it meant he’d get to see that smile. But Joshua wasn’t there, Gordon was alone.

Regardless, Sunkist would probably still be out of the question - Josh could cut himself on that dog’s, uh, sharp edges. 

That would be if Tommy even let him near his dog. 

He realized suddenly that he didn’t know Tommy’s feelings on that one bit. Gordon had certainly never tried to pet Sunkist, and none of the other scientists had. Maybe Tommy wouldn’t want people… touching his dog...

Why did he start thinking about Tommy?

He had been standing there dumbly staring at a plastic alien for who knows how long, inexplicably thinking of Tommy Coolatta. It wasn’t like Tommy would ever meet his son. Coworkers usually didn’t hang around enough to meet Joshua, monthly visits didn’t open up the opportunity for too many bring-your-kid-to-work day visits, really.  _ Ex-coworkers _ was a whole other thing.

Maybe he - did he  _ want _ the other scientists to meet Joshua?

No, his mind had just been wandering, he -

A new set of knocks echoed through his apartment, more frantic than before, instantly scrambling his thoughts.

Gordon’s hand instinctively clenched, spirit dropping once more, eyes wide. It took a moment before he registered the action, releasing his iron grip on the toy. He’d almost broken it, almost snapped it’s little green neck in two, but he was thankful he hadn’t. The last thing he needed was to cut himself on some broken plastic.

More importantly, someone was knocking on his door again, he was sure of it this time.

Leaving the mercifully spared extraterrestrial behind, he stalked back to the living room, this time resolute that - if no one was at the door - he was not going to bother opening it again until morning. Let whatever otherworldly forces lingered outside deal with it, he was going the fuck to bed whether they liked it or not.

Genuinely, he’d expected the military, Tommy’s father, maybe even his landlord when he’d swung open the door.

Instead, Gordon found himself looking down at dented metal and dark eyes.

His heart stopped.

Suddenly he was caught in a second that stretched on for eternity. He almost couldn’t register what he was looking at, couldn’t identify the clearly human form as being so, the sensation of every cell in his body turning to stone was too overpowering. He could only look blindly into the eyes of the beast who’d returned to reap his soul, mourning the freedom that had only  _ just _ returned to him.

It wasn’t  _ fair _ .

“hey-”

Gordon slammed the door.

His heart started again, hammering against his ribcage until he swore he felt it bruise.

Slamming the door had been pure instinct, the result of every muscle contracting at the sound of the guard’s voice, forcing him to defend himself as necessary. His lips were starting to curl into a snarl, his entire body swimming with unbridled rage. He couldn’t calm down, needed to, but  _ holy shit _ .

_ Did the nightmare never end? _

He was  _ fucked _ , why had he ever thought otherwise? It was too much to hope that Benry’d stay dead - the man was a pockmark on his life. Inevitable, immutable, inscrutable, hell-bent on destroying his spirit, the eldritch being would return as many times as it needed until he succumbed. 

His whole body shook, teeth grinding together to the point of pain.

He’d genuinely hoped that Benry would stay in hell where he  _ belonged _ . Was that too much to ask? For the story to be over?

Perhaps it was foolishness, or perhaps it was the bravery of a man at his wit’s end, but he found himself opening that door again. He wasn’t going to take this lying down, he was going to  _ fight _ . Because if Benry thought he would just curl up and die, he had another thing fucking coming. He was  _ Gordon Freeman _ , and he didn’t have any patience left for punk-ass aliens.

“What the  _ fuck _ -”

He blinked.

The night did not blink back at him.

Every muscle was still tense, poised to punch and tear, but there was nothing to fight. Only the emptiness looked back, and he didn’t know what to do about that, breath escaping him in rasps. 

He stood like that for a while, willing his eyes to make sense of it, hoping for an explanation. None came, but that wasn’t a satisfying conclusion. 

The guard was just… gone.

It was the skeletons all over again, wasn’t it? Haunting him as always, somewhere between reality and fiction, and he was still unsure how many of them in Black Mesa had been  _ real _ . But that had to be it, a testament to his slipping grasp on sanity, spurned by his bone-deep exhaustion.

But the skeletons and Benry weren’t really the same thing, not always. Benry, for one, was  _ always _ real - tangible and irritating, a physical roadblock. So maybe he really was losing it?

That - he couldn’t dwell on it, couldn’t think about it without slipping further. Every nerve was still bristling with adrenaline, but he hadn’t  _ moved _ , and he needed to settle that first before he allowed himself to fall apart.

Petulantly, Gordon slammed the door closed again, stepping back into this apartment - at this rate he was going to break the frame. But he needed to - to - oh! 

Locks, handy things - useful for bringing back even a fleeting sense of security. There were a myriad of cheap, shitty ones attached haphazardly to his door frame by his landlord. But that wouldn’t be enough, couldn’t be. Looking about desperately, he spotted one of his similarly cheap ikea chairs tucked under the kitchen table. Great, that was going under the door knob.

Though he almost busted his toe in the process of slamming the chair into place, he took a moment to admire his work of intruder-proofing his door.

The sense of security was short-lived, however, before reason broke through. Benry would probably just phase through his wall, or break-in in some other reality bending way, if he truly wanted to. The guard didn’t take no for an answer, not with Gordon’s “passport” and not now. 

Gordon forced himself to take a deep breath, why had he stopped breathing? Letting the air seep back out in a rough sigh, he began to pace in tight circles about the front door’s alcove. He didn’t care what Benry did, he just needed to - to -

Right, sleep.

He was hallucinating, letting the paranoia conquer him, because he needed what had so dutifully escaped him since the resonance cascade - rest. His mind lay in tatters, but he could  _ fix _ that, knew the next steps to fix  _ everything _ . His life would go back to normal if he could just stop thinking about  _ it _ . Even if the one of the worst parts of  _ it  _ had just shown up at his goddamn door.

See, Benry was  _ dead _ .

He’d  _ killed _ him.

Convincing himself of that wasn’t working, he - he needed to -

His bed, he needed his bed. Bumbling back into the dark, not bothering to shut off the kitchen lights as he went, he dove directly for that auburn mass of sheets. 

Falling face first into his pillow was the easy part, relaxing was the trouble. He was seething, every muscle in his body twitching from the experience of seeing the guard’s stupid face. He needed to do something to suppress the stress if he ever wanted to get to sleep.

He repeated facts he knew couldn’t be true, chanted them in his mind until delusion could win him over. If the thing at his door had been a hallucination brought on by exhaustion, he could only remedy it by acknowledging that as truth.

But he was so certain it  _ wasn’t _ , so sure that, like the skeletons, it had all been miserably  _ real _ .

But he needed to convince himself before he smothered himself in his sheets. Benry was  _ dead _ \- fully, completely annihilated. Slaughtered by the science team, consciousness left to rot in a dimension foreign to Gordon’s, never to return. Tommy’s father had said as much, said he was ‘taken care of’, that  _ had _ to be the case.

It wasn’t working, maybe he - but wait, actually ALL of the incident at Black Mesa had been fake! There never was a Benry! It was all just the lucid dreaming of an overworked man, and tomorrow he’d wake up to a world where the resonance cascade had never happened. Or, he’d remember that actually it had all been a video game he was playing - with, uh, very sophisticated and strange AI.

Ultimately, as the adrenaline in his system filtered out it left a pit of nothing in its absence. He wasn’t sure if it was the willful delusion, or a week’s worth of sleep deprivation washing over him, but soon he wasn’t thinking of much of anything. He just  _ was _ . Mind light and airy, even as his limbs grew heavier, and before long he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for only 1 second of Benry LMAO - don’t worry, the Benry concentration will only grow exponentially from here. Eventually all of the words will just be Benry. Also I made a side-blog for this fandom on tumblr - yeahalrightdude.tumblr.com, you can submit grievances there if you’d like.


	2. Chapter 2

Gordon had never been good at waking up. It didn’t feel like something one could possibly be good or bad at, but he had beaten the odds just to be bad at it. 

It probably came from being a heavy sleeper. It had been hell through college, back when half the all-nighters he pulled were spent playing video games. He’d almost slept through several meetings concerning his dissertation - his mind stuck replaying the same maps over and over again in his dreams.

No one had thought to use it against him until the Black Mesa incident, however. The fact that he could be moved from room to room and still not be woken was… concerning, to say the least. The fact that it had occurred to the other scientists to do so should have been more concerning, but Gordon didn’t have answers when it came to the science team. Nevertheless, finally peeling back your eyelids despite the fog of sleep - just to come face to face with Bubby, hands already in position to push your supine form down a twenty foot ladder - was bound to make a man question his innate survivability. Always one deep sleep away from a permanent one.

But waking up was hard. It always had been. Partly because there was nothing enjoyable about waking up to the world the way it was. He’d wake up, and the first conscious thought on his mind would be predictable - “I’m already running late”, or “Today’s just going to suck again”, or “I’m stuck in a research facility gone to hell and could die at any moment”. 

It wasn’t always like that, he used to enjoy the process. Just as the little sparks of consciousness began to dash behind his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing as his brain tried to re-adjust to reality - there’d be a sweet and tender voice calling his name. It was distant at first, but always soft. The sound of a smile as she said it, and there was always a slight pitch on the second syllable. Little by little he’d become real, and as the warm blanket of sleep seeped off his skin the sensation was replaced by fingertips. Three delicately tracing his jaw, two sweeping across his cheek. One pressed against his lower lip as hot breath hit his ear before a giggle. The sound of a morning finch, that little lilt, when she said -

“gordon.”

Oh. No. Not like that.

Her voice wasn’t that deep. Or monotone. That was basically the opposite of how she was supposed to sound.

Gordon tried to focus, where was he? Was he asleep? His body felt heavy, like each limb was being pulled directly towards the center of the earth. The pressure mounted on his chest - was, was someone sitting on him? No, that wasn’t it. The air had just become heavier, the bed he was lying on was pulling him in. He was pretty sure he was in a bed, though he didn’t remember when they’d found a bed in Black Mesa. But that didn’t matter when the air was too heavy to wade through, like a thick sludge; even lifting a finger was impossible. 

The seconds passed, each one torture, as fear began to overtake him. He was stuck, cocooned, buried alive. Who was going to save him? Maybe Tommy would help, Tommy was good like that - always trying to help. But Gordon didn’t know what Tommy could do about air. He - He could get Dr. Coomer, Dr. Coomer would somehow know what to do. He’d punch the fuck out of the sheets holding him hostage, all “Watch out Gordon, dangerous heavy air up ahead!” He just needed to get their attention somehow, let them know he was drowning.

He tried to open his mouth to yell for help, but his lips were glued shut. Practically welded. He felt like his throat should be tearing itself apart with the ferocity he was attempting to scream, but nothing happened. The silence burned on, wrapping around his neck and choking until -

“uh, bro-”

Gordon’s eyes snapped open.

“oh whoa, is that supposed to happen? what’s with your eyes?”

Gordon stared down the dark figure hovering over him, eyes wide with fear. Panic was cutting through his bones, each nerve electrified.

“pretty shit at sleeping, huh? what an idiot.”

The figure was flickering and warping as his eyes attempted to track it. A little voice in the back of his head, an age old instinct, whispered to him, ‘This it it. You’re already trapped in the hawk’s talons, all that comes next is death’.

Despite this, the darkness made no move to devour him - only stared back at him as if considering. Gordon worried for a moment that it intended to play with him, make him wait in agonizing fear before finally ending his life. But only a beat passed before wobbling hands were reaching towards him, approaching his face. Oh god, was it going to tear his face off? He attempted to flinch, to no avail, as the figure grasped at the space in front of his eyes, slowly pulling something off of him as the hands retreated. 

Gordon’s vision blurred as the creature leaned back - had - had it ripped out his eyes? No, he could still see. But the darkness had only become more vague, the rippling worsening as the moments passed. Yet the figure continued to stand stock still, boring holes into him with its gaze. Predator and prey merely existed together, if just for a moment. 

The next thing Gordon knew he was surrounded by blue light, his mind cradled by a familiar tone.

And then he was gone.

* * *

When Gordon finally woke up he was greeted by a steady ache throughout his entire body. Evidently, his muscles had taken the first soft surface he had slept on in a week as an invitation to unionize. Gordon certainly heard the protest, and allowed a dull groan to escape him as his eyes slid open. 

The worst pain was in his legs, which had taken offense to all of the running, crouching, and falling he’d recently been doing. His arms were better off, but certainly not pleased. He took a moment, most of his body still wrapped lazily in his bed sheets, to extract his right arm in particular. Keeping his breathing steady, he moved his hand so that it hovered right above his face, and began to clench and unclench his fist. Open. Close. Open. Close. A tendon in his wrist loosened and constricted as he repeated the motion, and he focused on the sensation. Open. Close. Neither the ache nor the blood in his arm appreciated the gesture, but Gordon waited until he felt a familiar tingling in his fingers before letting his arm back down to rest atop the bedsheets. It made it feel real.

Towards the room around him he noted, somewhat pleased, that he was in his bedroom back in his apartment. A faint light glimmered through the window to his left, casting his right wall with the jagged shadow of his closed blinds. For once, no dirty Black Mesa ceiling loomed above him, only a standard white one. No scientists were hovering around him as he woke either, which Gordon figured was a good thing. In fact, for the first time in a long while he didn’t have any responsibilities weighing over him either, he could lay there half awake for as long as he wanted.

He tried it for a solid minute. Just laid still and willed himself to go back to sleep to no avail. Finally, he conceded that some Advil would probably be more useful.

Groaning again, he propped his body up onto his left shoulder and reached towards his nightstand. Oh, his glasses! That was smart of him to remove those last night, he thought, sliding them up the bridge of his nose. He didn’t remember taking them off, but rarely does anyone remember the moments before they fall asleep. Through his glasses he could see the LED of his alarm clock - 1:30pm.

Flicking the lamp switch on his nightstand as well, he sat blinking at the brightened room as his eyesight adjusted. 

The sleep paralysis had been a surprise. Or, at least, that was what he thought had happened to him while he slept. Gordon didn’t often remember his dreams, but he would have expected nightmares on his first night free. Guess his body thought differently, supplying him with a brand new form of restlessness. Lucky him.

He only figured it was sleep paralysis in retrospect of course, much to his chagrin. He’d like to think himself an intelligent enough man to identify the symptoms even as it was happening to him - a half-conscious state, unable to move your limbs, audio-visual hallucinations. It all fit the bill. Not that sleep paralysis was something he’d ever been plagued with, but if it was going to happen it might as well now - while his body was recovering from almost certain death.

Leaving the thought behind, Gordon finally whipped his legs out of the covers and around his bed frame, using the momentum to pull himself into a proper sitting position. That earned him an intense throbbing pain that started from his calves and pulsed through his body, but he gave himself only a moment to wince through it. The sooner he got painkillers into him the better. One step after the other, he clung loosely to the walls of his room as he made his way towards his bathroom door.

While opening his medicine cabinet, desperately clawing for the aluminum sheet filled with little orange pills, he let the faucet run absently - shocked by how the white noise soothed him. With all the noise he’d dealt with over the past week, he figured he could do with a lifetime of silence. Yet, instead, the silence was tense and heavy - running water was a surprisingly welcome reprieve. Popping two of the pills after digging them from their thin confines, he scooped another palmful of water into his mouth and gulped - unintentionally meeting his mirrored eyes in the process.

He - he hadn’t bothered to look at himself last night. He didn’t know why. It just didn’t occur to him. That seemed strange in retrospect, but maybe it was his unconscious mind sparing him the sight. He looked like absolute shit. Several purple bruises sat under his skin, places where people and things had hit him - and, despite sleeping half the day away, he still looked exhausted, under-eye bags and all. His beard desperately needed a trim, and his hair was a mess, locks bending at weird angles from being slept on half wet. Self-conscious, he grabbed for one of the hair ties on the counter of his bathroom sink, he hadn’t put his hair up after his shower the night before - maybe that would help? But as he went to pull his hair back and into place, the soft stirrings of a headache began to tickle at his scalp. Ok, protest heard. No one was going to see him anyways.

Sighing instead, he studied himself further, mesmerized by his existence. He should be dead. A lot of other people were, but he wasn’t. That was something to reckon with. He should check the news, see what had happened to Black Mesa. Would he be mentioned? Was he wanted? Either case was bad, but knowing would be better than being caught with his pants down - metaphorically speaking. 

Any number of things could have happened while he was away as well. If Angela had tried to contact him - well, she’d take the excuse that he was busy with work. She’d look at him that way she did the next time he went to pick up Joshua - that look that said “You don’t give a shit about our son, do you?” But she’d take the excuse, it fit too well into her worldview for her not to.

The rest of his morning routine went surprisingly smoothly despite the pain - he brushed his teeth, made some headway with a trimmer, and meandered groggily into his living space. The actions all felt strange, hollow, like trying to follow the steps of a dance he’d long since forgotten. But, by god, was he going to bring some normalcy back into his life. 

Flicking the lights on, not quite sure when he’d turned them off, he inched back to the kitchen - kicking his fridge door open with one foot. Nothing but old milk and some butter. The butter was fine, the milk had already needed to be thrown out and was probably a science experiment at this point. It was fine, he’d just need to go to the grocery store and grab something, preferably stuff for salad, his body was crying out for something healthy. He’d just hop in his car and -

Oh _fuck_ , his car. He’d driven it to work that day hadn’t he? Fucking perfect, hoping it had been towed was probably too much to ask for - but the Black Mesa parking lots were pretty far from the main facility… maybe there was hope? Generally, Black Mesa personnel took buses to and from the nearest cities, but Gordon was a pretty new employee. He had wanted to make sure he was on time, but it turned out that didn’t matter much.

There was, however, a silver-lining. Gordon hadn’t bothered to bring his phone with him on Thursday, didn’t even leave it in his car or anything. Instead, there it sat next to the toaster, a little green light letting him know it was fully charged. Cellular devices weren’t allowed anywhere in the radius of the facility, big scary government contractors were scared someone might catch wind of all the _baaad_ stuff they were doing if they were. Usually that meant the phone got left in his car, but Gordon thanked whatever cosmic guardians were out there for making him forget it.

Sweeping up the device, Gordon quickly tapped out his pass-code, swearing as his bumbling fingers messed it up a few times. Mostly he’d just received a dozen spam emails. Several coupons from various cheap pizza chains. Blech, no thanks. There were also a number of texts during his absence, and one missed voicemail from an unknown number this morning. He tossed the voicemail aside for the time being, most likely more spam, and focused on the texts.

> _Saturday (3:45pm)_
> 
> Angela: Hey Gordon, Joshua’s excited to come over next weekend. Where/When should we meet on Friday?
> 
> _Sunday (11:24am)_
> 
> Angela: Please get back to me asap. Have a work trip next weekend and need 2 talk 2 gparents if you’re busy.
> 
> _Tuesday (7:13pm)_
> 
> Angela: Alright, nvm. Guess we’re skipping this month. We need to talk, we can’t keep doing this to him.

Shit, shit, _shit_ \- had it been a month? There was no way it had been a month since he’d last seen Joshua. His palms were getting sweaty under the weight of his phone, dread setting in. This was _bad_. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to her, she wouldn’t believe anything he said if he tried to tell the truth. What horrible shit timing - he needed to call her, immediately. 

He scrambled with the phone, hitting the contact number above the texts, and began to pace about the room, ignoring his legs’ protest.

The phone rang, once, twice, three times. Then nothing. Shit. He headed back to his bedroom, feet impatient. Second try, more ringing and then - “Angela, I-”

Gordon heard a fair amount of rustling on the other end of the line. “Gordon, I’m at work! I was in the middle of a meeting! You can’t just call whenever you want.” Angela admonished, her sentence punctuated by the soft sound of a door clicking somewhere near her.

“Listen, I’m so sorry I’ve been busy with work and -” a bitter snort on the phone’s other end, “ - and I really wanted to just, just get back to you as soon as I could.”

“Five days later isn’t exactly ASAP, Gordon.”

“I _know_! I know, but listen - there were... extenuating circumstances. I -” He ducked into his bathroom again, the echo of his own voice on the tiles somehow soothing.

“The agreement was that we’d arrange any visits a week in advance. You remember why, right? It’s for _Joshua’s_ sake. I’m - You know, I’m not happy about this either, Gordon. Joshua was _heartbroken_ when I told him he might not be seeing his dad this month, but what was I supposed to say?”

“Angela, you can’t just keep me from seeing him - he’s my son, too - he’s -”

“ _Stop_ trying to make me into the villain here!” Her voice rose with that, falling back down to a low hiss as she continued, “Gordon, I’ll think about it, Ok. Not this weekend, maybe next one, only if he’s up for it.” Gordon attempted to say something, but was quickly hushed, “And don’t call me in the middle of the day again. Maybe the only job that matters to you is your own, but I’m not going to look like the office asshole just because you want to be a flakey dad. Ok?”

Gordon started, “I-”

“Bye, Gordon.”

“Angela -”

The phone clicked, leaving only the dull ring of an ended call. Gordon croaked out “thank you.” to no one in particular. 

He felt his face flush with embarrassment and anger. Typical, she was always determined to make him out to be the dick. Of course he’d called her in the middle of the day, he got back to her as soon as he read her texts. That - that was a fucking good thing! But she didn’t want to listen, and he had a pretty good fucking excuse too. He could have died, he’d had his goddamn hand cut off for god’s sake. At the thought of it, he felt his fists start clenching against the marble sink. How the fuck was she supposed to treat him like that when she didn’t have a clue what he’d been through!

His neck snapped up and he stared bullets into his reflection, the bruises, the dark under-eyes. And what about his car - his mind helpfully added, thoughts racing at a mile a minute. Most likely a searing pile of scrap by now. Not that it mattered much, since he was out of a job. A waste of space with no means of transportation, no direction after the end of the world, and there was about to be no money left either. Sorry, aren’t you one of the theoretical physicists who used to work at Black Mesa? Step right through this door, sir, don’t be shy. There’s just a firing squad waiting behind the corner, here to clean up any leftover fragments that slipped through the cracks. He wasn’t sure he could ever show his face in public again. And he wasn’t even allowed to see his fucking son?

His reflection was disgusting, all of his edges too frayed. He didn’t want to look at it anymore, didn’t want to deal with the furrow of his brow, the age-lines of his forehead, the manic eyes. Lifting his right fist, shaking, he leveled a punch directly between his mirror’s eyes. The regret was immediate - crashing glass, a sharp pain, something that sounded almost inhuman crashing out of his gaping mouth. Breathing heavily, he regarded what remained of his mirror - pieces reflecting a thousand versions of himself, each shaking, each with tears welling up in the corner of their eyes. And deeper past his hollow clones, stood something blue and grey, lurking behind him. That hadn’t been there before.

“why’d you break that, huh?” The security guard’s face was stoic as always, lips turned down in a slight frown.

Gordon whipped around, snarling like a rabid beast, “ **_What_ **.”

“i asked you why you broke that? you can’t just go around breaking stuff, man.”

Gordon reared back, making to swing his still-bloody fist directly into the nose of the guard accosting him. At that, Benry actually, of all things, _flinched_.

_HAH_. That was a new one. Gordon couldn’t help but feel a little smile tug at the corners of his mouth - he was sure he looked absolutely deranged. But flinching was good, that was what Gordon wanted. Yeah, fucker, not so tough now - finally a glimpse of fear from the man who seemed determined to make his life a living hell.

The motion had stilled Gordon’s hand, however, which was probably for the best. Blood was streaming from his closed fist, he could only hope he didn’t need stitches, but it was better not to push it. Still, he kept his hand at the ready - intent on keeping Benry aware that the threat was still there.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing in my house?” Practically a growl, but god his voice sounded rough.

At that, Benry’s eyebrows creased slightly, his expression morphing into one of slight concern. “this is your house?”

“You’re supposed to be dead, fucker. Dead for good. We _killed_ you, I don’t get what part of that you don’t fucking understand.” Gordon swung his left hand in emphasis, making jabs in the guard’s direction.

“- this isn’t a house, this is an apartment, bro?”

“And now you think it’s alright to - you think you can just show up to my house? Just show up at my front door? I’m not putting up with your _bullshit_ anymore, _bro_ . You’re fucking insane, you know that? You’re a total freak of nature and - and - and you _stink_.”

Benry was still fully dressed in his Black Mesa uniform - vest, helmet, and all. Every inch of him was covered in the same dirt, grime, and bodily fluids Gordon had been. The impact of it was particularly pungent in the claustrophobic bathroom. Jesus, did this guy not know about showers? But something about that struck a nerve with the man before him, a hint of genuine offense crossing his features, “no, you stink, feetman.”

“No, no, Benry, you - genuinely smell like death man.” Gordon looked about squeamishly, “Listen, if you’re going to break into my home like a dickhead can you at least like - clean yourself, yknow?” 

Benry gaped at him. Gordon gave a dejected sigh. But the adrenaline was wearing off, and his hand hurt worse than the rest of him now - Advil wasn’t going to be enough to fix this one. He just needed to get Benry off his case.

“Ok, look, I’ll let you use my shower even. I don’t fucking care at this point.”

“wha-” The guard’s brow had creased even farther.

“What? Do you not have a change of clothes or something? Fuck it, wait one second and you can take some of mine.” With that Gordon stomped out of the crowded bathroom, bee-lining for his dresser. Just had to get something shitty he didn’t want anyway, anything to expedite this process. He pulled out an old college hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants that didn’t quite fit him anymore, perfect. Benry would probably hate the outfit, which worked for Gordon.

Rounding the corner once again, Gordon plopped the ratty outfit directly into the stock still man’s arms. Concern and confusion painted Benry’s face, his dark eyes darting between the mirror and Gordon, “who broke this mirror? wha- what happened to your hand, man?”

Pointedly ignoring the questions, Gordon growled out “Just take the shower. And then leave.” before retreating out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Leaning against the shut door behind him, Gordon focused on breathing. His air came out in ragged gasps, but he needed to inspect the damage. Wincing, he slowly turned the back of his hand to face him. Oof, it didn’t look good. A long gash traveled down the back of his fist - blood seeping steadily from it. With his other hand, he gently pushed the skin apart to inspect the damage, a new rush of blood jutting out in response. It wasn’t too deep, that was good. He could probably do without stitches, he’d sustained worse cuts within the last week alone. 

Washing and applying pressure was key though, there wasn’t an HEV suit to protect him from infection this time around. With that thought, he eyed the shape still sitting under his bedroom window - speaking of things that stank. But that wasn’t the priority right now, he needed gauze to - shit, that would be in the medicine cabinet. He wasn’t heading back in there, not when _he_ was there. Option number two, then.

With an old t-shirt from the bottom of his dresser tucked under his arm, Gordon washed his new wound under the gentle spray of his kitchen sink. Wrapping the cut delicately, he made a make-shift bandage out of the fabric. It was better than nothing, even as Gordon noted that this was now the third top he’d thrown out in the past day. A moment passed as Gordon just stared down at the bundled shape of his hand, letting himself breath. In, out. The soft patter of his shower echoed in the background which was - slightly surprising, actually. 

He needed fresh air. Pushing the chair from yesterday aside, Gordon opened his front door and ventured into the mid-day sun. It was nice out. The world was alive, and like him, still breathing. A slight breeze rustled the bushes below the outdoor hallway, and with the wind came the subtle sound of laughing in the distance. It was almost pleasant, despite the lump forming in his throat. Sighing, he leaned against the railing, casting his eyes down to his side, and almost jumped at the sight of a black beast at his feet.

Gordon narrowly avoided stubbing his toe on the railing, hissing an expletive. The alley cat responded with a slight swishing of its tail - ears turned back in irritation. “Oh.” Gordon ground out. “Was yesterday follow Gordon home day? Sorry, no one gave me the _memo_.” The cat’s ear only fell flatter against its head in response. Gordon watched as it deftly stretched onto all fours, black fur shimmering brown in the sunlight. Then, haughtily, moving as if it wanted it’s disdain known, it trotted away from him - squeezing through the railing and hopping off the balcony into the bracket below.

He didn’t like cats anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only ever had sleep paralysis once, and it was like a really dumb case of it where I just thought "oh, yeah this is probably sleep paralysis, I shouldn't panic" and then fell back asleep after a couple minutes. So like, if you've ever had actual sleep paralysis I'm so sorry for how incorrect I was in writing it lmaooo
> 
> Also, actual dialogue GASP - get hype for the OOC everyone hdfjgffdgjflk
> 
> Also also, I know half life is supposed to take place in 200x - but despite being very much alive during that time I do not remember a second of it thank you very much, so we're going with modern phone behaviors
> 
> Lastly, I got a ton more ppl telling me that they were excited for future chapters than I expected and so I wanna say thank yooouuu ;-; I will try to keep updating regularly cause this is probably gonna be a loooong one (my biggest flaw is that I love 100k+ slowburns with snails' pacing, dont @ me)


	3. Chapter 3

Gordon was having a very bad week.

That was an understatement of course, but it still fit. It provided a sense of generality, vital for the point he was making to himself as he stood on the second story walkway of a decades old apartment complex. The point was that he was free. Free from the dank confines of the Black Mesa Research Facility. Yet he was still having a bad week.

His hand hurt, he was hungry, and he was completely enveloped by an emotion he couldn’t quite describe but that he knew too well. 

Over the course of the incident he’d known real pain, real hunger. The searing pain of jagged edges cutting through bone, that red hot fire that pulsed from split nerves, then the ever present ghost of muscles that tried to be when they were _not_. He didn’t want to think about it, couldn’t to be honest. Thinking about it even a bit made him dizzy. His common sense knew avoidance was the answer. 

Yet here he was, alive, free, almost well-rested. Birds were chirping as little strands of hair tickled his nose, the perfect image of safety. But despite every shred of rationality Gordon had in him, and he knew he had a lot, had to, he’d almost felt safer in Black Mesa.

He almost didn’t know why, except that the reason was currently naked - uh, presumably - in his bathroom. That _had_ to be it, it made too much sense.

His life was a mess, he still didn’t know when he’d be hunted down for his involvement in the incident, and the _worst person_ he’d ever met had come back from the dead, once again, just to haunt him. He should be afforded a little _stress_. It wasn’t his fault the universe wanted him dead.

He heard himself start to hum a soft note, sound barely loud enough to hear. The vibrations in his throat provided some comfort, although minimal, but the distraction was welcome. Even if he had started to do it mindlessly.

Frankly, the universe had a sordid sense of humor when it came to Gordon. Here was the sun, its light fading softly as it passed through foliage on its way to his eyes, bouncing about the surfaces of the world in beautiful speckles that adorned his neighborhood. The sun at Black Mesa had been glaring, burning into his HEV suit, somehow even when it was obscured by the mountains that surrounded the facility. Yet, it was all the same sun. The universe wanted him dead almost as much as it wanted him to survive, despite everything it threw at him.

Standing there, back stiff as a board, looking at the trees, Gordon started to wonder how the other scientists were faring. He couldn’t envision a world where Dr. Coomer wasn’t fine, not because the man was all sunshine and rainbows - far from it, he was downright scary just as often. But he always bounced back, put on a grin, tried to impart some _wisdom_ even when reality felt unreal. Tommy wouldn’t be too bothered, he’d seemed ecstatic at his birthday party. In Black Mesa, Tommy had been frightened, everyone had been, but his naivety would be his savior. 

Bubby had grown up in Black mesa, so where did that leave him now?

No, Gordon couldn’t help a dark chuckle, no Bubby was almost certainly rocking his new world at that very moment. He could imagine cars on fire, countries overthrown, the local senior’s bingo night absolutely decimated. The only evidence left behind: ‘Bubby was here’ graffitied on the nearest surface.

The other scientists were all probably doing just fine, even just twenty-four hours after their world had almost ended. Gordon felt - strange about that - jealous even? That they could just come back from it all, without all of the bullshit, without metaphorical ghosts haunting them - well, literally in his case - was… something. He filed it away as another thing not to think about.

They’d made it out together, anyway, but that didn’t mean they needed to stay together. He’d said a lot of things to the contrary when he’d been sure his days were numbered, but it was easier to get back to basics without them.

And - right, Gordon needed to focus on those basics. He was stressed, fine, but he needed to get on with his life. How long had he even been out here, for instance? The laughter he’d heard earlier was long gone, and his aches had returned steadily. He needed to think of what he could do now, what he could do to fix things. _The milk_. Yes, he remembered that he needed to pour the milk out and throw it away. Then he could walk to the grocery store and get food. 

Cracking his back and turning back to his apartment, Gordon almost crumpled on the first step. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t walking to the store today. He could still dispose of the milk. He needed that much. 

Wincing through the pain of moving, he continued to hum even as he made his way back inside. It was continuing to be a good, if minor, distraction. Some amount of physical sensation that wasn’t pain, just enough to confuse his overworked neurons into feeling less.

He didn’t know what the note was, just figured there must be some letter people used to refer to it. He’d never been a musician - his parents had tried to convince him to join orchestra when he was in high-school, but he’d insisted on robotics club instead. But he knew letters had something to do with it.

Music was all just symbols, kind of like math was once it got at all interesting, but he’d never gotten much into it. In math the letters were all fill-ins, necessary only for the differentiation - the point was to separate the practical from the theoretical. But music was all practical, all the symbols had to mean something exact. Gordon didn’t care for it. Not that math didn’t have its share of symbols representing literal numbers, physics particularly, but even then it was all approximations. He’d gone into theoretical physics partly for the intrigue behind the word _theoretical_ , practical physics wouldn’t have been half as interesting.

Music, however, should have stayed in its own realm. Sure, written symbolism was an important part of the development of modern man - he popped open the old milk’s cap, taking a cautious sniff. Oof, yeah, that was bad - but couldn’t they have gone for something more interesting to represent frequencies, like, he didn’t know, colors maybe? Like, if he had to describe the note he was humming right now he’d go for -

Blue. There was a blue line of iridescent spheres rising up from his couch.

Gordon’s whole body clenched, sending him crashing to his knees, milk bottle tumbling out of his hands. Oh god fucking dammit. He sat on his knees behind the kitchen table, muscles cramping and shame pulsing through him at his body’s pathetic survival instinct. Of course Benry was here, he _knew_ he was here, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see a Black Mesa Sweet Voice.

But now his kitchen’s wall was drenched in bacteria infested ooze. Great, the number of messes to clean-up were only doubling at this point.

Gordon had more important _things_ to deal with first, however. Crawling over to his silverware drawer, he fumbled for something, anything, to defend himself with. He felt the familiar handle of a steak knife - imperfect, but it would do. Knife held firmly in his uninjured hand, kitchen table sitting like a shield in front of him, Gordon finally rose to face his enemy.

Benry was laying completely supine on his couch, staring up at his ceiling without emotion. The maroon MIT hoodie Gordon had hoisted on him slightly enveloped his frame, he hadn’t realized he was all that bigger than the guard. The over-sized hoodie clashed harshly with the still present security helmet, but at least it _looked_ like Benry had cleaned that as well, though it was somewhat hard to tell beneath the bullet holes and dents. By all means, clean and surrounded on all sides by softness, Benry should have looked content. In truth, he looked the most uncomfortable Gordon had ever seen someone look on a couch.

The guard didn’t turn to face him until the last of the spheres had faded from existence. Unblinking, he stated, factually, “that was the note you were humming.” as if that explained anything.

“Right. Actually, I have a question - can you answer a question for me, Benry? What the fuck do you want?”

Benry went back to staring at the ceiling, hands moving to cup together on his stomach, “was going to ask what you were doing here actually, thought maybe you were trying to steal stuff? didn’t realize it was _your_ place.”

“What? You thought I just walked out of Black Mesa and thought: gee, now seems like a great time to break into some random person’s home and sleep in their bed?”

Benry turned to face directly into the couch cushions, body twisting with him, “nah.”

Gordon continued to stare holes into the side of the man encroaching on his living space. The seconds ticked on, the air thick with silence. This was weird.

Okay, so that’s how it was going to be then - so be it. Slowly, cautiously, like a man trying to sneak up on a sleeping tiger, Gordon made his way to the couch. Only when he stood over his intruder, steak knife clenched almost painfully in his left hand, did he manage to speak again with any confidence, “Listen, man, you need to get out of here.”

Benry tilted his head just enough to meet Gordon’s gaze with his right eye - most of his face obscured by the angle between his helmet and the cushions. The look was intense, an obvious power-play. Well, he wasn’t going to back down, glaring daggers directly back at the man. The guard’s visible eye grew steadily wider as the moment drew on, eventually darting away to instead look to Gordon’s side, his body shifting restlessly in the process. HAH, another point for the _science team_. But the victory was short lived.

“oh shit, yo - did you fuck up? slip and hurt your lil hand again?” Benry mocked, flashing a toothy grin at his makeshift bandage.

“ _Fuck you._ ”

Benry was now staring at him full on, his face the perfect definition of smugness, “did you take a lil tumble wumble and hurt your lil handy wandsy, piss baby?”

“Get out of my house.”

“oh - oh, I’m so scared of Gordon Feetman, gonna hurt me reeaal bad with his hand he fucked up. and his - ” a small pause, while Benry squinted at the knife in his left hand, “and his wittle butter knife.”

Gordon’s jaw was starting to lock, and he was too goddamn angry to do anything about it. “So what? You just came here because you weren’t done acting like a kindergartner, or were you planning on finishing me off?”

Benry’s cocky grin dropped, “wha-”

He continued on, “‘cause if you’re planning on killing me, I’d rather you just got it over with frankly!” The truth in those words came as a bit of a surprise to even himself.

“no.” Sagging slightly in his position, Benry's eyes once again began to shift anywhere but the scientist’s direction, “didn’t work before.” 

Gordon clenched his eyes shut for a moment, fingers tapping impatiently on the knife’s handle, “Then _what,_ Benry, for the love of **_fuck_ **, do you want?”

The guard’s mouth opened. Then closed. He looked up at Gordon, then he didn’t. Eventually, he settled on staring back into the couch cushions, his deep frown visible despite the cast shadows. Benry had never been the sort to give proper eye-contact, always staring when Gordon didn’t want him to and never looking at him straight when he did, but this was _absurd_. Finally, quiet at first, like the guard hadn’t planned it ahead, he managed to mumble out his message. “i don’t know, man, i - can i stay here for the night? ...friend...”

Utter bewilderment was becoming a regular facial expression for Gordon it seemed. “What? What? Absolutely not, dude? How-” This was too strange, Gordon couldn’t help but laugh, chuckling through his words, “How did you think this would go? Like - like ‘hey, I know I tried to kill you multiple times over the last week, but can I bum off your couch, bro’. God, no. Fuck off.”

The man in front of him glared, seemingly deep in thought as whatever alien goo constituted his mind spinned rapidly. The back and forth bickering wasn’t new from his stalker, but the begging was too bizarre not to find morbidly amusing. Gordon knew he should feel more afraid of the man in front of him, the specter of undying he evidently was, but something about Benry invoked only a seething confusion at this point. He’d defeated him once before, why not again? But Gordon didn’t want to keep fighting - Gordon didn’t want to keep living in Black Mesa - Gordon wanted Benry to leave.

Eventually, Benry spoke up, words dark, “i don’t have anywhere else to go, man.”

_Scoffing_ , “Sure. You don’t have anywhere to go. I’m pretty sure I’m not concerned about whether or not _cosmic horrors_ have anywhere to go?”

“huh?” Benry looked _genuinely confused_ , what a dick, “what are you talking about?”

Gordon chose to ignore the obviously feigned ignorance, “And didn’t you say you have a place before? You were going to go home and play… something, with your friend - ps4?”

Benry grimaced slightly at that, voice almost whining, “yeah! me and my friend josh who works at the gamestop cashier was going to go home and - and going to play heavenly -”

“So you admit you have somewhere to go.”

“- play heavenly sword, new game out by Sony, but you _ruined_ that. bro, don’t you remember, i gave a whole speech about it?”

Gordon brought his free hand to his face, rubbing his eyelids behind his glasses, “I really don’t care.” The headache was returning. “I just need you to leave me alone.”

“yeah. okay. but my apartment is, like, so far away man - so far away.”

“And?”

“it’s actually on the whole other side of the city and everything, so far away, would take hours to walk there.”

“ _And?_ ” What even was the point of this, Gordon didn’t know why he was even bothering to react anymore.

“and no buses - in the whole world - go there either, so - so i would need someone to drive me there.”

“Great. I’ll order you a cab.”

“no.” Benry quickly interjected. “no because no cabs go there either, actually, idiot”

“Uhuh, and where do you live again?” Gordon cooed, mockingly sweet.

Benry sat still for a full minute, eyebrows furrowed, staring at the ground. He honestly looked like his brain had malfunctioned, panic flashing behind his eyes. Then, as if struck by divine inspiration, he jolted into a sitting position on the couch, almost exclaiming, “the commons, 157 landover street, apartment 305.”

Well, that was rather specific for a blatant lie. Landover street was real, Gordon knew that only because it was near the closest airport. The closest airport over an _hour’s_ drive away. Still, Benry could easily be flubbing, there were probably millions of Landover Streets in the world.

“yeah, i did a great remember, its near an airport?”

Oh. Great. Figures. Okay, well, Gordon still didn’t care. He still didn’t know why he was bothering to argue the point - maybe it just felt normal for them at this point. But he wasn’t going to participate in Benry’s dumb game any longer, he wasn’t going to give that freak even a modicum of satisfaction by -

“Great! Great - cause then -” Oh god, he was still doing it. “Then I can still get you a cab and you can get in the cab and leave me the fuck alone, bro. It doesn’t make any fucking sense that they wouldn’t drive there.”

Benry’s face was crestfallen for a moment as he stammered out, “it… no, you have to drive me there because - tommy said i” But, almost as if uttering Tommy’s name had brought him back to his senses, the guard’s face resumed its usual blank stoicism and he hummed out, “yeah man, no cabs at all. wild right? except not, because everyone knows that, bitch.”

Gordon was stuck on that though - Tommy had said _what_ to Benry? And _when_ did Tommy speak to Benry? Was it before or - after? Gordon wished he’d collected the thirty-six year old’s number before leaving the party. Only so he could get some answers on what the hell was happening. Of course.

The name-drop had stilled his argumentative nature in other ways, however. This exchange really was pointless. Gordon could stand there, headache flaring and blood pressure rising, for as long as he wanted. Benry didn’t care, and never would. The man seemed to exist for the sheer purpose of bothering him. He’d order him a cab, and then he’d just refuse to get in it.

What’s more, maybe - maybe Gordon shouldn’t be poking the lion. A small voice was whispering a reminder in the back of his head, ‘You only beat him with the others, you couldn’t take him alone’. And the others were gone. There was only Gordon, and death, bickering like siblings. Why did he think a steak knife was going to do anything?

And so, eyes wide and heart sinking, Gordon sorrowfully mumbled out, “Okay.”

The guard only stared back.

“You can stay the night.”

The toothy grin was back, canines sharp, “fucking epic, bro. am i staying in the guest room?”

Gordon quickly side-stepped to block Benry’s view of Joshua’s room, no way in hell, “Nope. You’re staying on the couch. And -” He wasn’t just going to let the asshole win, “tomorrow when - Whenever I get a car again, I’m driving you to your apartment and you are never. Ever. Until the heat death of the universe” Wait, considering the guard’s nature he probably needed to be clearer, “and after it! You are never going to speak - look at - exist near me again. Got it?”

Benry huffed, but evidently satisfied with the initial victory added “yeah, sure, man, whatever.”

“And by the way”, Gordon attempted to puff out his chest to imitate some semblance of intimidation, “you break anything in my apartment and I’ll kill you all over again I swear to god.”

Benry actually _snickered_ at that, “yeah i’m sure you will, man, you keep killin’ all sorts of people.”

“ ** _Don’t._ **”

The room froze for a minute, that one word seeming to bounce off the walls. Gordon - Gordon didn’t actually know he could sound like that. It had the same sort of rasping quality he sometimes had when he was angry, but something was off about it. It was a dark and deep tone, something past exhaustion. He didn’t want to deal with whatever the **_fuck_ **Benry had to say about the people he’d killed. He really. Really didn’t.

Benry had flinched again - good, nice that that was becoming a habit. Maybe it was some remnant of withstanding any modicum of pain at the hands of the scientists, he didn’t know, but he also didn’t care. All he knew was that he wanted to see more of it.

Letting the corners of his lips fall, no longer baring his teeth, Gordon turned to swiftly make his escape - knife still held at the ready. The other man seemed to only gawk at him as he went, but he needed to get out of there. He would lock himself in his room and go back to pretending everything was better now, whatever it took. 

“wait.”

Gordon stilled with his hand touching the knob of his door, following the command despite himself but refusing to look back. Moments passed with nothing but the sound of his neighbours. Until finally he ground out, “ _What. Do you want._ ”

“huh?”

Gordon slammed open the bedroom door with enough force he could’ve snapped it, a voice trailing after him, “wait, bro, do you have any games? i’m, like, really bored.”, before the door was once again slammed behind him with a concerning bang.

Later that night, knife hidden under his pillow, Gordon would call up the closest pizza delivery place and ask if they sold salads. They did. He also asked if they would deliver it to his bedside window. They also would, but not without asking if he was okay.

He lied, said yes, and tipped the guy a twenty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter probably needs editing before I actually post it - BUT I wanted to have a new chapter out "today" and I do whatever I want babbbbyyy
> 
> And now... I sleep. Do you hear it? The sound of me softly snoring? That's what I'm doing right now as you read this.
> 
> Oh, and I'm still at yeahalrightdude.tumblr.com, in case you want to come like my Tommy + Sunkist doodle that I expected to get 15 notes but instead got 200 - everyone in this fandom is too nice, it should be illegal tbh.


	4. Chapter 4

The passageways Gordon ran through seemed endless, a twisting maze of train tracks and concrete corridors. He’d been at it for hours, legs pumping as his remaining hand clung helplessly around the exposed meat of his right arm. Holding it tight to cut off the flow, even as his brain slowly rotted with the blood loss, he somehow clung to some remaining glimmer of hope.

Through each passageway, loop after loop he fled, always pursuing something. A familiar voice, a jovial smile, a laugh that said “Gordon, over here!”. Even as what remained of his arm began to sag, droplet by droplet melting away to nothing, the sounds beckoned on. And so he clung. And so he ran. Dodging around each corner as his feet screamed for reprieve.

If he had been aware enough to notice, he would have noted how the concrete walls practically oozed with bile. He would have seen the dirt and the grime that kicked up with his boots as he hopped from track to track. He would have felt the way the dust lay on his skin, collected in his pores, swarmed into his lungs with every panting breath. But he saw nothing, only scrambled blindly onward with an instinct he could not fight. Like lemmings off a cliff-side, Gordon stepped forward because it was all he knew.

But the sounds were growing louder now, he was sure of it. They were a gaggle of crows, the voices, cooing and cawing his name. Sometimes teasing, sometimes thankful, sometimes angry. The words rolled over each other, one by one, twisting and turning in the pit of his stomach until he wanted to hurl - but not yet, he couldn’t run and expel every part of himself all at once. But the sounds only became harsher as he grew closer, meaner, pecking at the little pieces of himself that the HEV suit couldn’t hide any longer.

It was inevitable that he’d trip, required by the statistical laws of the universe he inhabited. As his feet met with the edge of a concrete corner, his knees buckling, his face slammed helplessly into the next track with a squelching crack. Hot wetness ran ragged from his broken nose, his lungs squashed and struggling to stretch beneath the weight of his entirety. The voices were growing even nearer. 

With an up-cast glance, he witnessed the corridor come to life with the footfall of hundreds of soldiers, all crawling from forgotten corners like sewer rats. As their bodies squeezed between the cracks in the wall and fell upon him, kicking in his teeth and dislocating his ribs with the impact of boots against skin, the chattering became clearer. There, nested in front of his disintegrating self stood the science team, talking unbothered among themselves as he was beat into a pulp. Slowly, one by one, their eyes came to lay upon him, even as he felt his bones snap he could not help but stare back. 

Then, as if pulled by strings, the corners of their lips all began to peel back into mocking smiles, their mouths nothing but teeth. A jilting laugh came out of each of them, where Bubby’s practically bellowed, Tommy’s was a snickering grin. Dr. Coomer looked upon him with all the joy of a puppy as the blunt of a gun hit the back of his head, sending his teeth mercilessly into the soft flesh of his tongue, his mouth now awash with the sickening taste of iron.

Gordon could not struggle, he could only watch himself die. As what little remnant of his brain slipped carelessly out of the growing hole where his right hand had once been, a face ducked down to meet his eyes. The sinister smile and gaunt cheekbones whispered to him, low and dark, “this is what murderers like you get, gordon” Jagged teeth came closer as claws began to wrap around the soft skin of his neck, “you should have just brought your passport.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping only for the death that would soon come, but in response the universe granted him nothing. He heard nothing, felt nothing but the pain in his right hand. Actually, that was strange, how could there be pain in the hand that was not there. This wasn’t phantom pain, and wasn’t he supposed to have a hand at this point anyway? He wracked his mind for an explanation, no, he most definitely had had a hand during the train part. And what was a gaggle of crows, anyway, that wasn’t the right word for that at all - more like a _murder_ of crows, which frankly fit the science team a lot better as far as he was concerned. None of this even made sense, really.

The universe responded with a soft hum, the feeling of something touching his face. Okay, weird, not really an answer. Better than the beating, though.

He felt something delicately pick him up, hands on his shoulders, turn him so that he was no longer face first into the ground. When he tried to open his eyes again, he saw only the gentle blue of the sky - clouds floated far above him, their layers the colors of downy feathers. The ground was softer now, too. Something like fabric tickled at his skin as he basked in the soft blues and warm air of the world. The universe leaned down, inspecting him, and muttered out - voice toneless but gentle, “you should go back to sleep.”

Oh, that explained it. Dreams were weird like that he supposed. But he was happy to comply, drifting back to sleep for the second night in a row to that soft hum.

* * *

To his credit, he did predict the nightmares.

Waking up shaky and poorly rested wasn’t a particularly pleasant reward for his foresight, but such was life. Didn’t mean he needed to linger on what wasn’t real. What _was_ real was the lessening ache in his limbs, that was measurable progress towards something. As he pried himself once again from his covers he tried to focus on that optimistic thought.

He’d taken the time to re-wrap his hand with proper gauze the night before, taking care not to cut himself again on the edges of his broken mirror. Frankly, he should’ve been worried about the myriad shards of broken glass that littered his sink - if they had still been there. Instead, they had been swept into his wastebasket, and now adorned his old underclothes like glitter, a thousand little lights. He hadn’t thought about why Benry would do that, and he didn’t bother to think about it that morning as he leaned awkwardly over the counter in order to inspect himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. Bruises were fading, that was also good, he might even pass for an acceptable member of society at this point.

The hard part was pushing open the door he’d locked himself behind the previous night. The thing being that he was hardly prepared to face the person who sat on the other side. It’d taken more time then he’d have liked to admit, time spent pacing about his room, reminding himself he didn’t need to engage. But eventually he found himself tiptoeing into the living area, eyes quickly surveying for disaster. 

Surprisingly, there wasn’t much for his eyes to settle on. His apartment was unexpectedly empty. Nothing but an out of place blanket haphazardly tossed over a couch arm indicated he’d had any visitor - Benry had probably stolen that from the guest room, Gordon mentally noted he’d need to wash it. 

Even the milk stain from the day before was gone, which was - nice, Gordon supposed. He filed that away in his brain alongside the cleaned sink, determined to not overthink it. Maybe the guy was just a bit of a clean freak? Messes certainly hadn’t seemed to bother the guard in Black Mesa, but he was willing to admit he didn’t have a benchmark for what “bothered” looked like for the other man.

More importantly, Benry seemed to be gone. A quick look into the guest room, a peek into the guest bathroom, even checking inside the washer and dryer turned up nothing.

“Thank fuck for that.” He muttered to the emptiness, extending some gratitude to any greater powers that might be watching him. With luck, now that the security guard’s bizarre request to stay the night had been fulfilled, he had simply faded away like a ghost with no remaining purpose. What the guy’s intentions actually were, Gordon had no idea, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Benry was gone, and the sun that poked through his windows shone just that little bit brighter.

With the tension in his shoulders releasing, Gordon set about planning his first _real_ day back to reality. He’d spoken to Angela, that was something to check off. He needed to find out what had happened to his car, could probably get someone to take him to the parking lot where he’d left it but… the question was if that’d be too suspicious, or if it would even be safe. 

He’d had the sense to check the news already, using his phone, for any dramatic headlines detailing the incoming alien invasion, or perhaps the massacre of hundreds of US soldiers by domestic terrorists masquerading as physics researchers, or even the slightest mention of the words ‘black’ or ‘mesa’. But it had been a slow day, the most interesting thing Gordon found was a video of a dog saving a young boy from drowning in the Rio Grande. 

He hadn’t watched the video.

So obviously things were being kept hush-hush. He needed something mundane enough that it wouldn’t draw attention, but also something that would get him outside the apartment in case something was waiting for him to leave. Luckily enough, he still needed groceries.

And so, taking a quick rinse, throwing on a beat-up t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, he ventured out for the first time since his return. Meandering in the general direction he was pretty sure the nearest grocery store was, he’d never actually been. He tended to like to get food at… better establishments. He hadn’t chosen his apartment for the perks of the surrounding neighborhood, he’d chosen it because it struck a nice balance between affordable and livable - perhaps leaning more towards affordable, given he was intent on renting a two bedroom almost directly out of college. Usually he’d just hop in his car and drive somewhere else, but he’d make do in the meantime.

On the flip side, he was applauding himself for his foresight in being just the right amount of disorganized. A debit card he hadn’t bothered to put in his wallet, for instance, was now playing a surprisingly important role in his life. What with his actual wallet still left behind in a locker that may or may not have been obliterated by air strikes. The backup key that he’d _meant_ to give to some emergency contact, with the assumption he’d have one at some point, now sat snug in his back pocket. It was funny how sometimes things had a way of working out. Even if he’d forgotten to put his hair up before leaving, and the early summer sun was threatening to cook him alive, at least that meant he wouldn’t get a sunburn on his neck, right? 

He continued to focus on the positives, ignoring any sudden movements from the environment around him - just people, animals, normal things that wouldn’t hurt him. It worked out well, before he knew it he was wandering into the parking lot of the outdoor mall on the corner of his street. It was, thankfully, not busy. Gordon had almost forgotten what it was like to go out when other people were working… it was nice. It made it easier to notice all of the details, like the group of women gossiping by that Thai restaurant he’d never visited, or the Cadillac doing circles in the back of the lot, or the very large animal coming directly for him. 

“Mr. Freeman!” 

“T-Tommy?”

Down the sidewalk bounded a humongous retriever, it’s golden hair bouncing and tongue lolled back as it barreled towards him. Pulled by a baby blue leash, a lithe, tall man shadowed the dog with a lopsided grin as he glided along. Gordon stood frozen, caught like a deer in headlights, as the beast threatened to crash directly into him. However, mere inches from Gordon, Sunkist managed to come to a skidding halt, panting heavily as he stared doe-eyed up at him. A second later the taller man came to a crashing halt, bouncing off his pet with a tiny “oof”.

Tommy looked different, not wildly so, but Gordon realized this was the first time he’d seen the man out of work attire. No propeller hat this time around, which Gordon caught himself thinking was a shame. But the white jeans and yellow and red checkered button-up suited him, the outfit even matched the bright cherry-red slush the man was holding in his other hand. Sunkist looked… surprisingly 3D too. Had that effect just been because of Black Mesa? The dog had looked rather flat at Chuck E. Cheese too, but Gordon settled on not worrying about it.

Most of all, Tommy looked put together. A lot more so than Gordon, at least. He didn’t know why that bothered him so much, a pang of bitterness sweeping through him.

“I didn’t know you shopped here too!”

Gordon couldn’t help but stammer, “Uh - I mean, I usually don’t?” He genuinely hadn’t expected to see Tommy, well, any time soon at least. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, it just felt off. Like seeing your high-school teacher at the grocery store, or running into a celebrity on the street, that overwhelming feeling of ‘this isn’t where you belong.’ But here he was, barely a day and a half later, once again face to face with the man he’d crawled out of hell with.

He didn’t really want to see him. 

“I come here all of the time, my favorite Dunkin’ Donuts is here!” Oh, well, that was what Tommy was drinking then. Gordon tried not to appear disappointed in him, he probably failed.

“Wait, Tommy, this is crazy - do you live nearby?” Some part of him registered that it was obvious that the other scientists would live somewhat near him, living within some vicinity of work was a given. Still, it was a bizarre thought, that he and the man standing before him had lived for any amount of time just outside of one another’s radius. The possibility existed that they had passed on the street, existed mere moments away from each other, and never registered the other’s existence. That felt… absurd now. He realized he couldn’t envision a world where Tommy was just another passerby. But there it was. “‘Cause, that’d be wild, man - ‘cause I live just over there.” Gordon was gesticulating in the direction of his apartment, unsure why he was bothering to give that information freely out to the other scientist. 

Tommy, for his part, only gave him a strange look in response, “Yeah, I know where you live.” He seemed to think for a second, “But… no... I don’t live _that_ nearby.”

That - that was a very strange thing to say. “Wait, Tommy, you know where I live?” 

Tommy’s face immediately fell a bit, looking a bit flustered, “Uh, yeah, because of course if you’re here you must live nearby. That’s just - that’s just common sense, Mr. Freeman.”

Gordon scrutinized the man for a second, watching as he self-consciously slurped his slushie, other hand fidgeting in the fur of his pet - who simply panted agreeably back at it’s owner. “I mean, I guess that makes sense…” Wait but hadn’t he just said -?

“Umm… what are you doing here, if you’re not shopping?” Tommy interjected, still looking a bit nervous.

Right, Tommy wasn’t the deceptive sort anyway - Gordon owed him at least some modicum of trust after everything that had happened. Even when it seemed like everyone he was trying to save had turned their backs on him, when he was lame and bleeding out, Tommy still had been at his side. “Oh, uh, yeah - I _am_ actually shopping I just usually go -” He almost said ‘better places’, but the thought stuck with him that Tommy had been there, through it all. He could probably go without insulting his taste in outdoor malls, “other places, y’know.”

Tommy nodded in response, back to sipping on his Coolatta, Gordon wasn’t sure if that meant that the man did know or not. Probably didn’t matter. “But, god, it’s so… weird to see you? Like. Damn. It feels like weeks and minutes all at once… How have you _been_?”

“I’m okaaay” He detached from the drink and gave a funny face, “We were in Black Mesa for a long time. My legs hurt really, really bad.” He lifted a leg in the air as if to demonstrate. Oh. Well, Heelys certainly explained how Tommy had seemed to glide along a moment before. “They feel… they feel like two chocolate bars left out on a summer’s evening.”.

Gordon smiled at that, partly happy that it wasn’t just him suffering through some post-incident pain. “Yeah, a week’s worth of running is bound to do that, bud.”

“Uh, but! But Mr. Freeman, how have _you_ been?” 

“Oh. Right.” He… didn’t know what to say to the guy smiling at him. There was a precedent to be honest, he’d always been honest with Tommy before - it wasn’t like he hadn’t always been upfront with everyone about some of his more _negative_ feelings. Things were different now though. What do you say to someone who's only ever seen you at your worst? 

Gordon supposed you say whatever best fits the circumstance, “Yeah, actually, I’m doing.. Pretty good. Just. Very alright.”

A genuine smile overtook Tommy, spreading from ear to ear, crinkling the wrinkles around his eyes. “Yeah, good!” The look on his face could be described as terribly relieved, maybe even fond, as he continued, “You get really stressed out sometimes. I read that’s bad for you.”

Gordon felt a bit guilty, though he wasn’t sure why. By all accounts he was doing alright, his body was recovering, even as the stress of it all still weighed on him. But then - nothing bad had happened yet, even the visitation of his would-be murderer had ended up being… nothing. So why did he feel like he was lying? “Look, Tommy, I’m actually a bit busy, got a lot of groceries to get, y’know? Gotta, uh, get back to it -” He paused for a moment, wondering if he was really about to ask what he was feeling like asking, “actually, uh, you - you wanna come in and shop with me?” Stupid, he was an adult, he didn’t need a posse to go to the store. “Nevermind, that’s dumb, you don’t have to.”

Instead of looking at him with a pitying glance, Tommy only continued to smile, “Oh! I can help you pick out the best soda!”

Oh my god, Gordon really didn’t want more soda, “Yeah, sure, man! We can get some soda.”

Having Tommy accompany him through the store went better than expected. The conversation was a little awkward, but surprisingly welcome, even as Gordon avoided any particularly touchy topics. It was small talk - but pleasant small talk. He asked how Sunkist was faring, and asked after Tommy’s father, half attentive as he mentally checked off what items he’d need to last the next week. According to the older man, Sunkist had been thrilled to be back home - and his father was, as far as Gordon could glean, a busy person. 

Sunkist, as if bored with the shallow topics, poked about the shelves aimlessly, tail aggressively waving about - threatening to knock over every display they walked past. It wasn’t doing much for Gordon’s nerves.

There were worse things for his nerves, however.

“Uhm.. By the way, have you talked to Benry, Mr. Freeman?”

_Shit_ , he was enjoying not thinking about that guy. Hadn’t Benry mentioned talking to Tommy at some point? He probably needed to ask about that - almost certainly he hadn’t seen the last of the guard, even if he was desperately hoping for the contrary. Just because he’d fucked off that morning didn’t mean he wasn’t planning an equally sudden comeback. But keeping things on the down-low with Tommy would be preferable, “Nah, not really, mostly on account of us killing him, him being dead and all - “ Still felt guilty, but lying was for the best, “Why? Did he talk to you or something?”

Tommy looked... sad at that. “Oh. Nevermind then.”

Gordon could only squint at the other man. What the fuck was that. He wasn’t leaving it like that. Not that he wanted to talk about Benry or anything but... that only raised more questions. “Wait, but why? Are you asking, that is? Am - Was I supposed to talk to Benry or - it just doesn’t make sense that you’d ask.”

Tommy only continued down the aisle, looking slightly distracted by his drink again. Gordon found himself uncomfortable with the silence, “Like - even if I had spoken to him, which I didn’t, he wouldn’t have anything important to say anyway, right? He’s a total asshole - _was_ a total asshole, I definitely don’t have _anything_ to say to that guy. So - so I don’t know why you’d ask, man.”

“Sorry, Mr. Freeman, I probably shouldn’t say.”

“What? Why not? I mean if the guy talked to you or something I should probably know about it because - if you remember - he tried to kill me, and you! He tried to kill you, Tommy, he’s a bad dude!”

“Yeah, I know! But he’s also our friend!” Oh, Gordon genuinely hadn’t expected that. “We have to try to understand now.”

“Understand _what_ ?” Gordon practically hissed out, but Tommy was already meandering down the aisle. Okay, well that was the most he was getting then. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of his stomach, something like dread sneaking in at Tommy’s words - the two had obviously talked, about what he wasn’t sure. But most of all, Gordon wasn’t excited for whatever type of _understanding_ the other man was encouraging, there wasn’t anything to understand about Benry. All the man did was taunt, and deflect, and _lie_.

Like Gordon had been doing, he supposed. That was an unnerving thought.

Thankfully, the tense edge to their conversation began to dissolve as they continued to procure food for Gordon’s coming week, Tommy giving dubiously sourced facts and recommendations for passing products as they walked. The soda aisle was particularly fruitful, even as it was frustrating, as Tommy pointed out about 13 different flavors and brands that Gordon needed to buy. He was willing to get one liter, that’s it, just some Diet Coke or something similarly inoffensive. But, no, first off: “Diet Coke is gross, Mr. Freeman.” and second off, he apparently _needed_ to get Mountain Dew.

“No, Tommy - ugh - Mountain Dew fucking sucks.”

“No, it doesn't! It’s gamer fuel, you need it if you’re going to be a gamer.” A pause. “I still don’t think anyone’s going to want to watch anyone play video-games on the internet, though.”

Ah, that. He did - he _had_ wanted to be a streamer. It had been an easy dream to fall back on in Black Mesa, when death had waited around every corner. Just unrealistic enough, just ideal enough. He’d tried it, at multiple points, during college. He just wasn’t cut out for streaming, in truth, but it was hard to admit that.

The Mountain Dew thing was just dumb though.

“Fine, whatever, if it makes you happy - which flavor am I even supposed to get?” God, there were like twenty.

“You should get the White Out. It’s the best flavor.” Tommy said with a smile.

So, sixty dollars and 3 bags of groceries later, Gordon was rather pleased. This was all brutally, stupidly, amazingly domestic. He couldn’t help but smile at the man shadowing him, feeling somewhat like they’d just surpassed some great milestone together. It was nothing, of course, probably one of the simplest things a human being could do. But it had been good, relaxing even. A moment of peace after the storm, where Gordon felt like maybe they’d made it back to land after all.

Stepping back outside, he took a deep breath through his nose. He was still breathing, Tommy was still breathing, they could breath the same air and it would be okay. Nothing horribly fucking weird about it or anything, basically the same as two dudes who _hadn’t_ almost died together hanging out. Maybe - maybe they could hang out more, even, if Tommy wanted to? It was a thought.

Tommy interrupted his daydreaming with a start, “Oh! Mr. Freeman, I was supposed to ask but I forgot… Did you get a voicemail yesterday?”

Oh. Huh, he had actually. “Yeah, but I figured it was just spam? Should I -”

“Yeah, you should listen to it! I have to go now though. My ride is here.”

Before Gordon could even think to react, the stark-white Cadillac he’d seen earlier was screeching up to them, making a concerning sound as it popped slightly up onto the curb. From his position, Gordon could see the outline of a thin, older man waiting impatiently in the driver’s seat - was - was that Bubby? But before he could ask, Tommy was already zipping past him, popping open the back door mere seconds before Sunkist lept in, huge body squeezing dubiously through the frame.

The last thing Gordon heard was a quick, “Bye, Mr. Freeman!” before Tommy was ducking through the door himself. The car kicked off the moment he shut the door, narrowly avoiding hitting a woman as it lurched back onto the pavement, before blazing down the parking lot - leaving Gordon more lost than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, this is the last dream sequencey thing most likely - not trying to chomp the style of much better fanfics like [maybe that is why I’m enamored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069949) but i DO love a good nightmare, it’s a good excuse to get a lil purple prosey
> 
> Also, the science team be like: okay, we gave him 24 hours, time to go back to harassing our new little brother
> 
> LASTLY, sorry if I’m not… responding to all comments at this point I am a little overwhelmed by the kind words and don’t know how to respond ;-; just know that i SEE and really really appreciate you guys taking the time to comment what you’re thinking even if I don’t know what else to say other than AAAAAAAAAAAA THANKS


	5. Chapter 5

The journey back from the store was somewhat grueling, the midday sun still beating down on him as he ventured through the less shaded parts of suburbia. His limbs were beginning to cramp again, aches easing through him from overuse. But, inexplicably, Gordon felt happy.

Seeing Tommy had been… good. It’d been a long time since running into someone he knew on the street hadn’t been an overall negative experience. It was strange, but maybe not at all. Tommy had fought by his side when he was at his lowest, after all, and maybe spilt blood ran a little thicker than water. Still, Gordon hadn’t expected the slight pep to his step after their conversation. Gordon hadn’t expected anything at all really. But Tommy was amusing, and well-meaning - and literally refreshing.

Refreshing enough to ignore the bizarre cameo from Bubby, at least. But Gordon figured the other scientists had obviously done a better job of exchanging information after he’d left the Chuck E. Cheese. That suited him just fine, and wasn’t something he needed to worry about.

He hoped.

But in general, he was having a fantastic day! He was free, Benry was gone, he was sociable, and he had groceries. He’d actually had something in mind for lunch as well, something that would keep well - easy lunches over the next week while he continued to get his life back on track.

The trees in his neighborhood were beautiful, and provided some welcome shade for the last leg of his journey. He didn’t think about how the light that dazzled through them was akin to his life, or any such trite metaphor, he just found it pretty. Like it should be.

Eventually he ducked back into his apartment, lock quickly turned and bags bouncing with the movement. Turning to set his groceries down, he stiffened at the sight of a dark figure crouched on his kitchen counter. His heart dropped, the goofy half-smile he’d been wearing slipping off his face like a mask. 

Well, great, that was shorter lived than Gordon would have hoped. 

Benry looked much the same as he had the previous day, still wearing the hand-me-downs Gordon had gifted him. Legs draped over the counter edge, back bent as he leaned against a cupboard. It wasn’t the most intimidating silhouette, especially with the over-sized hoodie - not nearly as intimidating as the bullet proof vest had been - but his presence still put Gordon back on edge. 

It probably always would. His brain had adapted to the sight, like an animal reacting to the bright colors of a poisonous snake.

Benry was the first to speak, Gordon didn’t feel like he could move, “hey, where’d you go off to?”

The words snapped Gordon out of it, bringing him back to his senses. The creature in front of him was hardly human, but it likely didn’t have the upper-hand it’d had previously either. An instinct in him still wanted to cower or fight, to bristle at the threat, but Gordon could utilize rational thought. If Benry could smell fear, it was to his advantage to not emanate it.

And anyway, he had been having a good day, goddammit.

He wasn’t going to let Benry ruin that for him. He wasn’t going to be afraid.

“I don’t know. Where did _you_ go? Tell me that.”

“none of your business.”

“Then it isn’t your business where I went either.” Gordon stepped forward, reminding himself that he’d already started the day off strong. He could be confident. Benry was more akin to a gnat than anything, anyway. Just something to swat away. “Get your ass off my counter.”

The guard looked bored, “...get your counter off my ass?”

“That - that doesn’t even make sense?” Gordon sighed, “Listen, I need to put away some shit, can you move?” He plopped a bag down next to the other man to illustrate his point.

Benry seemed to perk up at that, “oh, shit, yo! you got food?” Oh, fantastic, he was now rummaging through his groceries. “you gotta, uh, lot of vegetables here, man.” He held up a carrot apprehensively, “are you one of those health people? kinda cringe, bro…”

Snatching the carrot from the other’s hands and trying to grab the bag away, Gordon ground out, “Shut up and move, man.”

“yo! bro! did you - did you get mountain dew?” Benry was now pulling out the liter Tommy had convinced him to buy, “wow. white out. good to know you have awful taste.”

“I didn’t -” Why did he feel defensive about this, “Tommy chose that flavor, not me! You think I drink that garbage?”

“shoulda’ got Baja Blast. but it’s cool, whatever, tommy’s cool.” Benry popped the lid and immediately started gulping down the soda directly from the bottle. Great! If there was any left after the guard was done with it, Gordon wasn’t drinking _any_ of it. “did he mention me?”

“What?”

“huh?”

Gordon squinted at the guard, “No. He didn’t mention you.” Guess he was going to have to put the groceries away _around_ Benry. Perishables could go in the fridge for now, the vegetables he could leave out, anything that needed to go in the cupboard would have to wait. He wasn’t about to reach around Benry. “People don’t generally talk about other people after they try to kill them.” Okay, that was certainly untrue, but it didn’t matter - he was lying anyway.

The guard just turned away at that, no response. Perfect, that was an ideal conclusion. There was still a problem, however.

“You have to move, dude, I need to make something to eat and you’re in my way.”

“i’m not stopping you.”

“I’m pretty sure you are, man! By literally sitting in my way! You are _literally_ blocking the space I need in order to make lunch.”

“no I’m not.” Benry pointed down to his right, “there’s a space right here?”

He was theoretically right, the space was big enough to set up a cutting board, but a much bigger, underlying problem made Gordon disagree. If he prepared anything with Benry on his counter, they would be practically _touching_ for the whole process. Pressed together in his cramped kitchen. He didn’t want to risk the possibility of a stray arm bumping a shoulder, it made him uncomfortable just to think about.

He was, admittedly, usually a pretty touchy person. He’d even touched the guard a fair amount of times in the past, usually to grab his shoulder while exasperated or push him away by the chest. But after Xen, Benry had lost the privilege of that particular facet of Gordon’s camaraderie. Whatever Benry was, Gordon didn’t want any of it oozing off on him. Perhaps the thought was childish, hearkening back to elementary school days, like a kid concerned about cooties, but he excused it as merely healthy caution when faced with the unknown.

But of course Benry wouldn’t give in, only looking back at him expectantly. Gordon relented, perhaps he could still salvage what remained of his good mood. “Fine, you’re right. But like - if you’re not going to move I’m setting some ground rules, alright? First off, don’t touch anything.” He waited for any sign of agreement, Benry blinked, close enough. “Second off, don’t say fucking anything. Not a single word, not a syllable. I already told you I don’t want you here, so... the least you can do is shut up.”

Benry’s aloof expression darkened into a glare at that, but with a click he finally murmured “fine” in agreement. The guard’s back straightened, holding himself so that he was looming over the scientist. But he didn’t say anything more.

Well, Gordon was too hungry to deal with it. He would make do, dropping the cutting board and a knife at Benry’s side.

They sat in relative silence for a while, apart from the soft tap and crunch of Gordon chopping vegetables. One onion, sliced in half, then cubed. One carrot, sliced thin, then celery. Concentrating almost made the intense stare Benry was leveling him less apparent, almost. 

Mere inches away, he could strike at any time, but all the man did was stare down at him. It was unnerving, Gordon felt all the while like every facet of his being was being judged. It led to some jagged cutting, he was suddenly very focused on not cutting himself. It wasn’t usually this hard to avoid that. But with dark eyes looming over him, every movement felt like a would-be disaster, a wrong move waiting to happen, a chance for the guard to have something to _say_.

It was tense, and awkward. It came as a terrible relief when, finally rolling his shoulders, Benry sniffed and looked away. A breath Gordon didn’t know he was holding released in response, his shaky hands continuing to cut as if nothing had happened.

It took another moment before Benry began to let out a soft Black Mesa Sweet Voice. Little balls of light drifted from his mouth, spilling about Gordon’s kitchen in little rivulets and curls as the guard looked around with ennui. The colors ranged from dazzling greens to faint purples, a veritable light show in his kitchen, accompanied by a dulcet tune Gordon couldn’t quite call music.

It was almost nice, Gordon could admit that, finding himself watching quietly as he continued to dice. He’d never hated the Sweet Voice by itself - the feelings were merely a product of their environment. An environment filled with confusion, vitriol, and a stern refusal to acknowledge the absurdity of it all. The fact that Benry was most often involved didn’t help much either.

Maybe he could have even liked it if anyone had told him what _it_ was.

The sound was bizarre, sure. Not something that made sense coming out of the guard’s mouth, but sometimes creatures could be surprising with the sounds they’d make. He’d even have bought the ‘I’m not human’ thing as an explanation - perhaps some alien organ produced the vibrations? But what he didn’t understand was how the vibrations created visible blobs and spheres.

He’d guessed they were just little balls of energy, the light and heat of warped little pockets of air. They felt hot to the touch, based on the times when Benry’d insist on ‘calming’ him, though touch was maybe the incorrect word to describe the sensation. People don’t think of air as something that can touch them, though it does, all water vapor and gases. It’s a matter of semantics; air, steam, fire - they don’t touch, they whip or sit or _burn_. But the Sweet Voice didn’t burn, it was just uncomfortably warm.

Anyway, as much as Gordon would have liked to study the wavelengths, he wasn’t given the chance. Benry didn’t care to explain, Dr. Coomer hadn’t cared to explain, and Tommy had only insisted it was a language. A language for what? Xen aliens? He’d never seen them use it - apart from Benry, which assumed Benry was even from the same extra-planar realm.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the realization that the man in question was back to staring directly at him, head turned slightly as if questioning, though his face stayed aloof. Gordon could only look back, confused and a bit irritated, before the realization slowly dawned on him that he’d long since finished cutting the celery. The embarrassment was immediate, he felt the way heat grew in his cheeks as he swiftly ducked around Benry to turn-on the stove, avoiding eye contact along the way. He felt for all the world like he’d been caught red-handed. But _why_? Caught red-handed staring at a horror monster as it defied physics in his kitchen? That was just normal behavior, he’d have done a lot more than gawk if he wasn’t so used to it by this point.

Benry, for his part, merely gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, and went back to singing. The guard only stopped for a moment when Gordon muttered, “If you don’t move, your ass is going to catch on fire and I’m not helping you when it does.” but merely to wiggle slightly off the stove-top before continuing his tune. It was infuriating, like trying to cook with a boulder in the way. Gordon attempted to saute the vegetables, and add ground beef, with as much hatred as he could muster. It probably didn’t come across. 

But at least they weren’t talking. 

There had been plenty of moments during Black Mesa where him and the other man hadn’t spoken to each other, for sure. But there was always the context of the group. Bubby and Dr. Coomer had always been more talkative, their conversations filling the empty spaces, even straying towards productive at times. But when Benry spoke, it was only ever inane bullshit. At least then he could turn his attention away from the guard, talk to someone else, or focus on their next obstacle.

There had been other times, too, when everyone was asleep. When Gordon would spot bright eyes in the darkness, staring into him. Even then he could hide behind sleep.

Now, he was trapped in a private conversation he’d never agreed to. Waiting for the ground beef to brown was too trivial to keep the air between them from growing stifling. He wanted out. He wished Benry would just disappear, pop out of existence, fade out like he occasionally did. It’d be a perfect time for it - well, all times would be the ideal time for Benry to be gone. Gone to - wherever he went.

“Where do you even go when you disappear, anyway? Like - all those times, were you actually dead or just off selling us out to the military?”

“heh” Benry’s lip curled into a smirk.

“Wha - what are you laughing at?”

“i knew you couldn’t do it.”

“Do _what_ , Benry”

“not talk.” Gordon felt his face flush again, “you always get uncomfortable when no one’s talking. it’s like, pretty funny.”

“What? No! I don’t get uncomfortable when no one’s talking, man, I -” Gordon struggled to come up with something to say, the pan he was holding gave a sizzle in encouragement, “I just like to - to make sure I get as much information as I can, y’know! And make sure everyone else gets information too! Like, fuck! I know you and the science team seem to have some vendetta against anyone trying to give intel but that’s not my fault!”

“yeah, i think you’re lying, bro.”

“And I think _you’re_ dodging the question.” Got him, he wasn’t about to be distracted that easily.

Benry tilted his head again, thinking for a moment. “i went out to clear my head.”

He what? “Are you trying to tell me that every time you’d disappear in Black Mesa, it was you ‘going out to clear your head’. ‘Cause I call bullshit, dude.”

“what, no? your other question…”

Gordon tried to think back, when had he asked another question? He couldn’t remember asking anything - especially not anything that that answer would make sense with.

Except, wait -

“That’s what you were doing when I woke up, out ‘clearing your head’?”

“yeah, i guess.”

Well, alright, that was something. Didn’t explain how he’d gotten in and out of the apartment without a key, but there was something kind of human about it. No weird skeleton magic, no trysts with military agents, no undeath - just a dude going outside to clear his head.

Though, that probably meant something very different to Benry than it did to ordinary humans.

There was a moment of silence as Gordon tossed the contents of the pan. Yeah, could probably add the wine now..

“so. i get to ask you a question.”

“Oh, uh, alright.” Gordon was dreading this - if it had anything to do with a passport he was flipping the pan full of boiling fat onto the guard. “Go ahead.”

Benry was quiet for another moment, this time brow slightly furrowed, like he wasn’t sure if he should ask. Actually thinking before he spoke? Truly, the world _had_ ended if Benry was capable of such a feat.

“so, uh… when’s your wife getting back, man?”

Gordon was back to gawking, “My-my what?”

“you’re… wha-? your wife, bro?”

Gordon was genuinely confused, when did he - He never told anyone he had a wife. Did Benry just _assume_ he had a wife? Weird. “Dude, I don’t - I don’t have a wife? I’ve never had a wife? Wha- where did you get the idea that I had a wife?”

“you have a shitty kid?”

“That. That doesn’t mean I have a wife, man?” Gordon couldn’t help but laugh, what the hell.

“oh.”

Benry was looking at him peculiarly, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. It read mostly as surprise, but Gordon couldn’t help but notice a faint smile tugging at the corner of the man’s lips. Absolutely not. He imagined that expression would transform into a full-blown smirk in a second, accompanied by exactly the sort of drivel Gordon didn’t want to hear about his situation. The type of thing he’d heard a hundred times before, all ‘oh, knocked up some poor girl, huh?’ or ‘tell me more about your commitment issues.’

Or, knowing Benry, he’d go for gold: ‘Figures. I’d get sick of you too’.

It was all bullshit of course, Gordon knew that. He wasn’t bitter about how his and Angela’s relationship had gone. It didn’t work, so it ended, that was for the best - even if navigating visitation was a hellscape. What he didn’t want was to give Benry any satisfaction in trying to tear him apart. He wasn’t going to put up with it, not when he was supposed to be having a good day. Yet here he was, in the middle of trying to make goddamn lunch, and he was just… letting this happen to him? He needed to put a stop to it - and frankly, he wasn’t against fighting fire with fire.

“I knew you were kinda dumb, man, but I figured you’d have more than a kindergarten education on how relationships work?” He needed to look nonchalant, not defensive. “What? No one told the freak show how babies are born?”

“yo, i think you need to calm down.” More blue Sweet Voice balls, ugh. But it wasn’t going to work.

Gordon _was_ calm, goddammit.

“Oh! Oh - you know what! I got it, I understand you now!” Gordon gave a little snap and finger gun in the guard’s direction, really hamming it up, “You don’t have a single fucking clue about human relationships because you’re a disgusting, morally bankrupt, fucked up _alien_ , right?” He wasn’t sure if there was any cheese down this tube, but he was willing to find out. “God, you’re fucking pathetic, you know that right? Trying so desperately to be one of us because you’re uh - you’re… jealous, of course! I bet you can’t even _feel_ love - how sad is that, man?”

Benry had stopped trying to use the Sweet Voice. “After all, you didn’t give a shit about killing anyone you _claimed_ to have liked. Like Tommy! You were going to kill him! Because you’re a twisted, emotionless fuck!! Which is why no one in the entire universe -” Gordon waved his arms in a big circle, trying to emphasize the point, “and no one in any parallel universe wants you around, bro. Frankly, I’m past wanting you dead, man, you’re just a fucking joke at this point.”

Benry was quiet for a moment, just looking at him. Gordon waited for the returned jab, or for the mocking baby talk Benry sometimes fell back on when he clearly had no better ideas. But none of it came, only a muttered, “yeah. cool. that’s fine.” as the guard slumped off his counter and walked nonchalantly into his living room. 

“What? Where are you go-”

“Don’t _fucking_ talk to me.”

Oh, okay - so there had been cheese after all. That was… good?

Gordon stood there for a minute, the wine sizzling out, still waiting for something. Benry’s only response was to flop face first onto his couch, back turned to him. Then he just stayed there, fully prone, face pressed against the cushions. It looked uncomfortable.

Well, not the result he had expected but not one he was going to complain about. Where had he been… right, milk. Add one cup of milk. Wait for it to simmer.

God.

He felt _bad_.

Had Benry always been this sensitive? There had been points in Black Mesa where the guy seemed to reach a frustration point, but surely Gordon had been meaner to him than _that_ before. He’d shot him in the head and only gotten a mildly put-off response, for god’s sake. There must have been something specific he said - was it the alien thing? Mentioning Tommy?

He _shouldn’t_ have felt bad. Benry deserved to be called out for exactly the prick he was. Benry deserved to feel bad. The man was a nuisance at his best, and a monster at his worst. But Gordon still felt guilty regardless. Mechanically stirring the sauce, he wandered about his kitchen aimlessly as he waited for it to simmer, casting little glances at his intruder when the curiosity got the best of him. The guard, for his part, didn’t move much - just lay there like a corpse. 

The next step was to add the tomatoes and herbs, but the process still felt slightly mechanical. With no more inane comments, no more Sweet Voice, the apartment was horribly quiet.

Gordon retreated back to his room after a while, popping a cover onto the pot before he left. He’d need to wait an hour or so anyway, and he didn’t want to be in the same room as Benry. 

There were a myriad of reasons he wanted to avoid the man, not just the awkwardness he’d created, but it certainly didn’t help. He’d let a monster stay in his home, and now the monster was _sulking_.

God, he wanted to take a nap.

He spent some time just staring up at the ceiling, laying on top of his covers, letting his mind whir. So much for having a good day, he was right back where he’d been the night before. Back to thinking about all the things that could go wrong, all the things that had gone wrong, and where the hell he was supposed to go from here. 

He honestly regretted starting to cook something that would take so long to prepare, his stomach feeling emptier by the minute. He could actually go for some pizza. A not insignificant part of himself wanted to just curl up in bed with a deep-dish and sleep the next decade away. He imagined it’d be nice, to just rest and atrophy away. Better than dying of blood loss or blunt trauma. If he could die in his sleep, soft and warm, wouldn’t that be ideal? He wouldn’t have to deal with assholes, or pretend to be moving forward.

He rolled over, grabbing his phone from where he’d left it charging on his nightstand. Scrolling through pointless nonsense would be better than following the trail his mind laid out for him any farther. Phones were always good for feeling numb, for just soaking up information with no purpose.

As his screen brightened, he saw the notification for a missed voicemail pop up once more. Oh, right, he’d forgotten about that again. Tommy said he should check his voicemail, though he didn’t remember giving him or anyone else his number. It couldn’t hurt though. Well, it couldn’t hurt that bad. He hit play, bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Hello Gordon!”

_Oh._

“- You brought us all to hell and back, alive! You made it to the ultimate birthday bash at the end of the world!” 

The message continued on, heartfelt and kind and entirely unexpected.

“... Now I imagine you’ll… move on with your life. Onwards and Upwards, ay, Gordon?” Something tickled at Gordon’s throat as he heard Dr. Coomer’s voice again, his eyes feeling moist. “Perhaps this is presumptuous of me but… must this really be the end of our time together? Perhaps the science team could stay in touch, hmm? Now, it doesn’t have to be a bank heist, though you did promise. Maybe we could simply get lunch, or we could all soiree at my home. Maybe we could go on a cruise, steal a plane, see this new world!” Was - Was he about to start crying? There was no way he was going to start crying. “ - You changed our lives, Gordon. I’d like to think it was for the better.” Oh god, he was definitely crying. Tears running down his face sloppily as the message continued “- But I know we’ll never forget you. I hope you won’t forget us.”

As the message came to an end, Gordon simply wallowed in it. Phone still pressed up against his face, he allowed himself to weep for the first time since this had all begun. Warm streaks of tears dripping down his cheeks and onto his sheets, leaving little wet spots on the fabric.

He didn’t cry often, he wasn’t the type. Maybe he just didn’t let himself be the type. But it felt right this time, it felt like he deserved it. Alone in his room, where the only sounds were his sniffles and sobs, he wept. He wept for everything he could not come back from. It felt awful, his throat tight and his eyes puffy, but it was good.

It was the shock of it all, most likely. A downpour just waiting to happen. He hadn’t cried in Black Mesa, only yelled and panted and panicked. Any tiny pinpricks at the corner of his eye had been held back by sheer apprehension, too busy to break all the way down.

But it was the kindness, too. A friendly voice telling him, unashamed and unyielding, that he was wanted. That he was appreciated, that he’d be _remembered_. He didn’t usually get that, didn’t usually need it. Being a father usually filled the gap, Joshua loved him - showed it in all the little ways that kids do. A smile, an ask for help, a soft ‘I love you’ before bed. But Joshua wasn’t here, and maybe Gordon needed something else too. Someone who’d seen him at his worst, knew what he was, yet still said “I’m proud of you.” The thought brought new tears to his eyes, washing down his face.

He couldn’t say how long he went on like that, probably long enough that he needed to check the bolognese. The sauce could wait, though. He barely felt like standing, his whole body felt like dead weight, and he needed to do something first. Finally wiping the stray liquid from his eyes, he rolled forward and looked back at the phone, hitting the ‘call back’ button in the process.

It took a few rings, but then - “Ah, hello, Gordon! Did you get my message?”

Gordon smiled shakily at that, “Yeah - Yes. I did.” He chuckled slightly, “I’m not sure how I would have called you back if I hadn’t gotten it?” He tried not to sound like he had just been crying.

“Ah, astute observation. It would indeed appear that you got my message!” He could practically hear the smile on the other end, “I’m so glad you returned my call, Gordon, I was worried you wouldn’t!”

Ah, Gordon held himself back from feeling any more sappy. “Yeah, I - That would be an understandable fear, I don’t even know how you got my number honestly?”

“Well, Gordon, it’s very simple. I just used the power of deductive reasoning, much like the delightful fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, created by British author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Heh, what?”

“I used clues on your person, such as the way you cut your hair, or perhaps the scar on your left brow. I know you better than you know yourself now, Gordon.”

Gordon heard another voice through the phone, faint but intelligible, “That’s not deductive reasoning, that’s inductive reasoning!”

Dr. Coomer was quiet for a moment, before exclaiming with complete wonder, “My god. Dr. Bubby, you’re right! Well… regardless, Gordon, I was able to ascertain many things about you. For instance, the way you tie your boot laces indicates that your father was an alcoholic.”

“N-no? He definitely wasn’t? I mean, as far as I know...” Gordon tried to think back to any signs he might’ve missed. No, he’d had a pretty standard childhood.

“Oh. Really?” He sounded far too disappointed about that, “Well, at least I got the phone number right.”

Gordon was smiling more steadily now, this was absurd, “Wait - Dr. Coomer, Bubby’s there?”

“Yes! He is staying with me for the time being, can’t exactly go back to his own home, you see. But it is working out for the better, he has been a great help in some… post-incident experiments I’ve been running.”

“Right, that’s - that’s awesome, man. That you’re letting him stay with you, uh, not that - yeah, anyway, glad to hear you’re both okay.” Honestly, Gordon _was_ glad that Bubby was staying with Dr. Coomer. Something about it just seemed right, two weird old men kicking back and being weird together. He was almost jealous of it. “Anyway, you mentioned maybe hanging out or something? I wanted to follow up on that.” He was sure he sounded pathetic.

“I’d absolutely love to “hang out”, Gordon! What did you have in mind?”

Oh, he hadn’t thought of that ahead of time, “Shit...uh.. I don’t know we could…” What had Dr. Coomer said in his message, ‘soiree’? Weird word. “I could come see your house, if that’s not intrusive or anything. You did invite me, right?”

“Of course! How would you like to come by tomorrow, perhaps noon?”

_Tomorrow_? “Uh, that’s - that’s not going to work out. To be honest, I don’t really have a car right now. Like, I could walk but I don’t know where you live and my legs still feel a bit like shit -”

“That will be no problem, Gordon, we can simply come pick you up in my car. Dr. Bubby is getting quite proficient with it!”

“Yeah, I think I saw him almost hit a woman this morning?”

“Yes!”

Well, okay, maybe tomorrow wasn’t too soon after all. He felt some discomfort at the idea of hitching a ride off Bubby, especially since it left him at the other scientists’ mercy. But push come to shove, if he _was_ left stranded somewhere he could always call a cab or order an Uber. He had an actual phone on him now, and by extension all of the freedom that came with it.

Something else left him with a bad taste about it, however. Something similar to how he’d felt when he’d ran into Tommy earlier. A little part of him that said ‘I could never be prepared to face the others’, the same part that wanted to crawl under the covers and rot.

But, shit - that reminded him. They had a _car_. 

“Wait, by the way, Dr. Coomer - I’m absolutely down to come to your place and have lunch tomorrow, but can I ask a favor? Could you…” He probably didn’t have the right to ask, but he needed this, “... help me drop someone off somewhere? Since I don’t have a car, y’know.”

“Sure! But who will we be transporting, Gordon?”

“Uh… eugh, don’t worry about it. It’s a long -“ Well, ‘that guy who tried to kill us showed up at my apartment’ wasn’t actually that long of a story, “It’s a stupid story. I’ll explain tomorrow, we can just drop him off before we head back to your place. And listen, man, I really, really appreciate it.”

Gordon heard a smile again, “Anything for you, Gordon.”

“I - yeah, see you tomorrow, Dr. Coomer.”

“Goodbye, Gordon!” He heard the call end with a click. Phone slumping out his hand, he turned his head back to the ceiling.

* * *

It took a while, but eventually Gordon retreated from the bedroom he was making a fast habit of hiding in. Pillow held firm under one armpit, he had a plan, and he was going to make sure the next twenty-four hours went as smoothly as possible.

He drifted into the living room, putting effort into appearing as calm as possible - which actually wasn’t too hard, his good mood was returning. Benry had, thankfully, ceased trying to suffocate himself in his couch. Instead he sat curled up on the farther end of the couch, with his arms wrapped around his knees, expression blank. He looked like a sullen teenager, a position unbefitting to his physique - it was only a little funny. Moreover, Gordon hoped he would take this news well, but he wasn’t counting on it.

“Hey, man.”

“yooo” Said with a bit of a sigh, the guard drew out the vowel until it faded in a low growl. He barely shifted his eyes from their forward gaze, only looking at Gordon through the corner of his vision.

“So, I found out Dr. Coomer has a car, we’ll be able to take you back to your apartment tomorrow.”

“nice.” Completely toneless, a hint of vitriol dripping off each word, “that’s sick, bro.” 

Gordon could only sigh, loosen his shoulders, and try to be the bigger person. “Listen, obviously neither of us like each other, okay? But I’m not going to sit here and try to ruin your life because of it.” He considered sitting down with the other man for a brief moment, maybe it would make him seem more genuine? But no. His skin still itched at the thought of being any less prepared to abscond, unwilling to let down his guard. “I’m done fighting - I never wanted to fight in the first place. I’m going to get you back to your place, because it’s the right thing to do, and then we’re going to never talk to each other ever again. Because _both_ of our lives will be better for it. Can you do that _one thing_ for me, Benry?”

The guard was silent for a moment. “didn’t want to talk to you in the first place either. but you had to come in with… with your dick out - ” Okay, Gordon was still pretty sure he’d never had his dick out, “- and no passport. and look - listen” Benry was rambling again, was he really this upset? “- look, I was just trying to help, bro. you - i can be nice. i can be such nice, man. and - and we used to be friends, bro, and you don’t even remember that because you’re sucks - “

“Benry, we literally were never, ever friends. You absolutely made that up.”

“...could be friends…”

Gordon was done with it, he wasn’t going to do whatever ‘understanding’ Tommy had mentioned. He just needed to get through his script.

“Anyway, in the meantime you can still sleep on my couch, and I brought you an actual pillow this time.” Benry actually looked towards him with that comment, eyeing the pillow warily. “It was rude of me to not give you one last night. You’re still a guest, even if you're a piece of shit.”

Gordon held out the pillow for the other man to take, suddenly blisteringly aware of how awful an olive branch it was. If Benry had wanted a pillow he would have just taken one from the guest room, like he did with the blanket. And since when was Gordon some southern belle who gave a damn about providing hospitality to sociopaths? It was all rather contrived, an obvious ploy to keep himself alive through the night. Bargaining with pillows, it was a sad sight.

But to his surprise, the guard took it. Looking confused as he reached out to hesitantly grab the plush thing and place it in his lap, but he did take it. A beat passed with no words, before Benry began to snicker a bit, leaning towards Gordon to show him a smug smile, “you sleep on this, bro? gross. i bet it’s covered in lice from your shitty hair.”

Cool, back to normal then. Gordon took his cue to turn and leave. The aroma that filled the air of his apartment seemed far more pressing to his empty stomach. Thankfully, making his way back to the kitchen gave him a good excuse to ignore the guard as well.

Pulling back the pot cover, a gust of steam billowing outward, Gordon inspected the bolognese. The sauce was still simmering away, but its consistency had faded from a watery soup down to more of a sludge. He probably needed to add a bit of water back to it, but otherwise It looked delicious, glistening red and brown. Plus, he still needed to make the gnocchi, though he briefly considered scrapping that idea and just eating the sauce directly.

A voice pulled him out of his drooling, “i stirred it.”

“You did what?”

“i stirred it while you were sleeping. not sure if i was supposed to turn the heat off?”

“O-oh.” Stirring it was good, Gordon should have remembered to do that. But Benry had instead. Why? “That’s… cool. Thanks, I guess.”

He stood for a moment, looking back at the meat sauce. What had he been doing? Right - potatoes. He needed to mash them - boil them first, then mash, easier that way - then he could bring out the flour and eggs.

He could do better than the pillow thing. 

It wasn’t that he was trying to be nice, he was just trying to be strategic. He evidently didn’t know what would set Benry over the edge, so he needed to be careful. And having a bargaining chip never hurt any negotiation, even when the trade was ‘Agree to never bother me again after tomorrow, and I’ll try and pretend to be okay with you for the night.’ He needed something to show he was willing to be amicable, as long as the guard agreed to meet his demands. Something to - to -

Oh, yeah, that would probably do.

He took his time combining the ingredients, kneading as necessary, leaving the room quiet for a bit - proving that he could. But he’d need to say it eventually, “I do actually have games.”

“... huh?”

“Yeah. I have an old gaming laptop - could bring it out if I wanted to.” Shape the potato and flour into a long snake, then cut out little balls, easy enough. “You could borrow it for the night, assuming you won’t _break_ it. Or try and use it to get into my bank accounts or something.” Next came the pot of boiling water, then _plop,_ then just to wait until they all rose to the top.

Patting the excess flour off on his jeans, Gordon turned to face the man sulking on the other side of the joint room, only to find him smiling. Not a smirk or smug grin, just smiling. It hardly fit his next words, “and how do I know your games don’t suck, bro? prob’ly only got baby games - Hello Kitty: Roller Rescue ass.”

Ugh. Why did he have to make every single, minuscule thing difficult. “If you don’t want to borrow the computer, I don’t have to give it to you.”

“nah, i’m fine with your lame laptop. only real gamers play Hello Kitty: Roller Rescue, actually. that was a test.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, do not try to ascertain an actual recipe for bolognese from this I have absolutely never cooked in my life. It just felt like a good Activity - and I want bolognese so very badly
> 
> Also, I’m still worried everything is horribly out of character - I feel like Benry was starting to get more sensitive around Act 4, and it’d be reasonable that he might be even more sensitive given the circumstances. But idk - I’m doing my best and probably need to rewatch the whole series before starting the next chapter lmao
> 
> Also also, I’m not sure if it came across, but Dr. Coomer sent basically the same message here as he sent in canon. Just with some necessary ‘not actually a videogame’ changes lol. I just didn’t feel qualified to y’know… rewrite the whole thing. Especially because that message gets me in my goddamn feels every time I hear it motherfucker!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a long wait for a shorter and mediocre chapter! It's just been kind of a WEEK - but we have to keep this train rolling or we won't get fuckin anywhere 
> 
> (UPDATE: I went back and edited the beginning of this chapter a bit because it was bothering me - sorry if you read the unedited version and are seeing this now lol)

Gordon started his Saturday morning with a swig of black coffee.

He wasn’t usually the type to drink coffee without sugar, or that wasn’t espresso - preferred lattes, actually, when time permitted - but he’d figured it was time to pick up the habit. There was just something grittier about drinking your coffee black, something that showed you were sick of everyone’s shit. He’d assumed it would fit his new outlook on life. A testament to the new Freeman, hardened by the sorrows of war and death.

He hated it. It tasted awful.

Benry had seemed to enjoy the extra cup he’d made him, which Gordon wasn’t particularly happy about. In that early morning daze, with the soft whir of the machine to distract him, he’d actually prepared the second mug almost senselessly. Too groggy to care, maybe. And maybe two mugs side by side always looked less pathetic. Yet, it was all for the better, almost a given. He was still being hospitable, after all, honoring their arrangement. 

In retrospect, it was a bit hard to tell if Benry had actually enjoyed it. Maybe the guard would just gulp down anything placed in front of him, that same blank expression no matter how sweet or foul the concoction. Probably, but he’d still expected more complaints when he’d placed a steaming, white mug in front of the other man, a mumbled ‘here’ his only explanation. At least some accusation of foul play would have been merited. But Benry hadn’t said much at all, just gave him a strange look before downing the liquid in one swift movement.

Benry, for his part, had been annoying but tolerable since his tantrum the day before - spent most of the afternoon and night playing TF2 on Gordon’s old computer. If Gordon remembered correctly, that was because he ‘didn’t know any of these other games that probably suck’.

Pfft, who doesn’t know Kane and Lynch 2 - or Payday? Guess there was only one fake gamer around and it wasn’t  _ him _ .

Nevertheless, everything had been going almost suspiciously well. Ever since the inconvenience that cut through his otherwise good day, he hadn’t actually had anything major to complain about. Nightmares he could hardly remember, a slight crick in his back from having slept poorly, but neither were substantial compared to the fading experience of sleeping on metal floors. He’d taken a proper shower once the caffeine kicked in, unwrapped his hand, thrown on something that wasn’t old or badly fitting, even pulled his hair into its usual messy pony-tail. He looked and felt presentable, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Benry, on the contrary, was still wearing the clothes Gordon had offered him two days prior. He would have given him a change of clothes, honest - but the guard had evidently rinsed himself off at some point and donned the same garments without him noticing. That should have been concerning, a ghost lurking about his house, using his shower at it’s leisure. Yet, Gordon could only be thankful that at least the guy didn’t look or smell dirty, not that Gordon’s personal space bubble was small enough that he could verify that. Maybe Benry just liked wearing the same thing all the time, would certainly explain the helmet. Regardless of the reason, Gordon simply did not care.

He wouldn’t be dealing with Benry much longer, anyway.

But for now, the guard was there, loitering outside the leasing office of Gordon’s apartment complex while the two waited for their ride. The time was 11:58 - one hour and two minutes of forced cohabitation remaining. Then Gordon was free.

In the meantime, he had taken to maintaining a firm six foot distance between him and the other man, as if he were avoiding some unnamed plague - or perhaps just trying to avoid any chance of association. The waiting was unpleasant and boring, the sun bouncing off the faux-adobe exterior of the building, with little wind to distract from the heat. 

Benry, despite wearing a hoodie, did not seem to be bothered in the slightest. The possibility was there that his range of acceptable temperatures was far greater than a human’s, but if so, where was the limit? All matter breaks down eventually, but what would that even look like for a creature like him. He couldn’t help but wonder if the guy could even sweat - no sweat would explain why he hadn’t needed to change his clothes. No sweat meant no body odor, or at least would greatly reduce it. But how else would he thermoregulate? 

Gordon shook himself of his thought process the second an image of Benry panting like a dog popped into his mind’s eye. Perhaps it was time to make the executive decision to never wonder about Benry’s bodily functions ever again - it was fucking gross, for one.

It was 12:01 when Gordon realized, embarrassment sinking in, that he’d never actually told Dr. Coomer where he lived. The ‘call contact’ button on his phone had hardly been pressed, however, before a stark white Cadillac was charging dangerously through the parking lot entrance. Its paint dazzled in the midday sun, threatening to set ablaze any leaf that crossed paths with the rays bouncing off the sleek, retro form of the vehicle. Gordon briefly recalled Tommy’s ominous statement from the day before: ‘I know where you live.” Well, figures.

The wheels bounced in protest as the car skidded to a halt directly in front of Gordon - nearly hitting him, save for a few inches of space. This left him face to face with the statement piece’s driver, who looked him up and down before regarding him with a sharp smile. Bubby looked as good as his age would allow - dressed down in a turtleneck, wasn’t it too hot for that? The man in the passenger’s seat had the better idea, cheesy Hawaiian shirts were a summer classic - though the warm smile on Dr. Coomer’s face may have left Gordon with some bias.

Gordon was dealing with a dilemma, however. He didn’t know whether to smile back. It was the correct, friendly thing to do, especially since they were not only extending their hospitality but offering him a significant favor. Yet, he still felt a bit unnerved when he saw Bubby, little pinpricks of panic rippling up his right arm. Betrayal had a way like that, but there was a resoluteness in his heart as well. He’d already decided on forgiveness, had to to make it through Black Mesa with the older man, and he was stubborn.

“Hey, guys! Holy shit is it good to see you!” The smile grew on his face, forceful at first, but eventually widening with ease. He  _ was _ happy to see them. Both of them. Living, breathing reminders that the world was still turning, and that they’d all made it out.

“Hello Gordon!” Ah, hearing that was like taking a dip in cool water. Which, frankly, he could really use right now. The car was roofless, which told him they’d be relying on airflow for any heat relief. It was unfortunate, but there was no price too steep for style he supposed.

“Yes, hello, Gordon, I - holy shit, is that Benry?”

Gordon’s smile dropped. Right, the part he was least looking forward to.

“Listen, I am so, so sorry about this - I know you probably weren’t expecting to see him again but” Wow, he had not thought this through. “- but we need to drop him off. Maybe you’re still feeling really pissed off and -”

“Oh! It’s always nice to see another friendly face, Gordon!”

“N-no, Dr. Coomer, wha -” Even Bubby was looking at the other elderly man incredulously, “He is not a friendly face!” Did they not care? He knew he was the one who’d always had… well, the biggest problem with the guard. But did Xen mean nothing?

“Wait, didn’t he try to kill us?”

Relief washed through him, his hand resting on Bubby’s shoulder in appreciation, “Yes! Yes, he did! He totally did that!”

Bubby had switched to eyeing him doubtfully, “And you just want me to let him into my car?” He didn’t really have a rebuttal to that, it was a ridiculous request. He should’ve known they wouldn’t want to do it - it was, after all, ultimately his cross to bear. Eventually he’d need to stop relying on others as a crutch, but in this case he didn’t have much of a choice, did he?

“Listen, he just -” He settled for honesty, “He won’t leave my house? But if we drop him off somewhere far,  _ far _ away maybe he’ll at least - I don’t know, take a while to find his way back? I’d really, really appreciate it. Honest to god, I’ll pay you back! I’ll -”

His rambling was cut off, “Dr. Bubby, isn’t it  _ always nice _ to see another friendly face! And we did say we’d drop off his guest!” There was something in the way that the stouter scientists looked at the other that said more, perhaps in the raise of the brows or the crease in the mouth, but Gordon didn’t really know what. Maybe they had discussed this before arriving, already deciding they’d help out regardless of the context. If so, Gordon was resolute that he did not want to be babied.

But Bubby was relenting, his eyes rolling and shoulders shrugging, “Fine, whatever, just hurry up and get in so we can go.”

“Seriously. Consider it a favor, I’ll pay you back, how about -”

“Gordon, if you don’t get in the car I am leaving without you. It’s hot as hell out here.” Okay, well, would have to worry about that later. With a quick nod, ducking into the leather interior, Gordon settled into the seat behind Bubby, readying himself to feel uncomfortably chauffeured for the next hour. The seats were sticky, the smell of new car invading his sense as he entered, had they just bought it?

“oh, hey, come here often?” He resisted yelping, just barely, thankful that there was no roof for him to hit his head on. He had no clue when Benry had entered the vehicle, never even saw him approach it, but he’d been admittedly preoccupied. Now the guard was sitting right beside him, already neatly seat-belted, hands clasped together in his lap like he had been waiting patiently for a while. Gordon only gifted him a curt glare, trying not to think too much about their proximity. “hey, you need to seat-belt up, bro.”

“Yeah, I know! I was getting to it!”

“seemed to me like you weren’t, though?” The click of the seat belt mechanism accompanied a narrowing of eyes. Benry blinked back. Gordon could be comfortable with silence, he would prove it - Benry didn’t need to win.

“Now, where is our first destination, then?” There was a sparkle in Dr. Coomer’s eyes, some little excitement for adventure. He would probably be disappointed.

Gordon tried to think back, eyes squinting, “Uh, right, it was…”

“157 landover street.” A moment’s pause, “thought i might fuck around and know my own address.”

“It’s a bit far away, again I totally understand if you guys want something in exchange for this or -”

Bubby was already starting the car again, the engine clattering in protest, “What’s a little distance going to hurt?”

“Gordon, he loves drive!”

Well, alright then, guess it was that easy. 

A short discussion followed about who would be providing directions, Gordon insisted, Benry didn’t even offer. His instructions likely would not be perfect, but he could give them from memory, no point wasting battery life on a place he already knew. 

And so they ventured out of Gordon’s neighborhood, wandering blithely out into the half suburban, half cityscape maze that had formed in response to the large research facility to the west. The first leg of the trip consisted of a couple close calls with stoplights and one memorable troop of girl scouts, but that just seemed par for the course. Most important was the realization that the open air car combined with Bubby’s driving made it very, very hard to have a conversation. Finally making it out onto the highway did not improve the situation, as pleasant as the harsh wind was in the New Mexico sun, it was also a steady roar that flowed above all other noise.

So it felt almost divinely planned when traffic began to slow to a trickle after ten minutes of smooth driving. They had settled into a not-unbearable twenty miles per hour, right under the shadow of a large plateau, the sound of other cars around them more of a gentle background chorus than a distraction.

Gordon was certainly going to take advantage, “So, damn, how have you guys been? We’ve only been back on the surface for a couple days, how have you been - y’know - faring?” He readied himself for some sort of absurdity, what else could he expect from these two?

Dr. Coomer was the first to pipe up, as if he’d been waiting for the invitation, “We’ve been quite well! Dr. Bubby here has never been out of Black Mesa, of course, but that has almost been a benefit given the circumstances!” 

Well, nothing strange so far, “That’s awesome, I’m glad to hear it!”

“Yes! The first night was… confusing, to say the least! But I am set on enjoying what is while I still have it, don’t you agree?”

A little on the morbid side, but Gordon couldn’t say he didn’t thoroughly agree. Enjoy what you have, because you won’t always have it. He’d always known that, but something hit differently about it now - that little continuous reminder that it was all temporary, that the rug could be pulled out from under him at any point. Strange that it was harder to live by those rules than to believe in them. “Yeah, man, abso-fucking-lutely.”

“I suppose I never thought of myself as the type to retire, but Dr. Bubby and I will certainly be making the most of it!”

Ah, that made a lot of sense. They were certainly old enough to retire completely, and he didn’t blame either of them for wanting to never step foot in another research lab for the rest of their lives. But something about it was putting him off, leaving him resentful.

“Damn, I wish that was me - I’ve gotta’ find a new job eventually.” Right, that was it, jealousy. Ugh, the thought alone devastated him. But Capitalism didn’t care if the mere thought of seeing another corporate soda machine made his palms begin to sweat, his legs jitter. “Not sure how to put ‘survived a resonance cascade’ on my resume, though.” He added, an attempt at humor. It probably wouldn’t land.

The two other scientists paused for a moment, then turned silently to look at one another, faces pinched in confusion. Huh, guess it  _ really _ didn’t land. Still, this was an extreme reaction, Bubby whispering something that the other slowly nodded to. Gordon couldn’t help but furrow his brow, something clawing up his throat. He didn’t care for whispering.

Eventually, Dr. Coomer tilted his head back to look at him, his face awash with pity, “So, Gordon, if you’re looking for a job... you must be low on funds! How much money do you have - saved up, that is?”

“Shit, uh...“ Gordon ran through the numbers in his head. There was rent, utilities, food - well, thankfully no gas anymore. He’d have to keep paying for car insurance, contracts and all that, but perhaps that would work out for the better. It’d be stupid to risk whatever would come with trying to cancel it; they might ask for identification or it might… trigger some sort of investigation. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but risk wasn’t something he was interested in at the moment. Better to let the automated payments continue on untouched. Dead men could still have automated payments.

He realized with a start that he had been uncharacteristically quiet, it was just a simple question. “I don’t know… two months worth?”

“Two months? That’s not a lot of time.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Bubby, I’m pretty sure you’ve never had more than five dollars to your name in like, your entire life.”

“What? I made more than you did. Did you think just because Black Mesa grew me in a tube that they didn’t pay me?”

“Gordon, the man has seven degrees!”

Gordon groaned, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses, “Listen, guys, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit stressed, y’know? I’m not even sure where I’d go to get a new job at this point.”

The two elderly scientists were quiet for a moment, giving each other another knowing look. He really wished Bubby would keep his eyes on the road. “Weren’t we going to rob a bank? What happened to that,” Bubby suggested, “I was looking forward to it.”

Oh my god, he’d almost forgotten about that. “Listen, I - you know I was losing a lot of blood when I was talking about that, man.” He… wouldn’t consider it. The chances were too high, the risks too great. It’d be no less than a suicide attempt. “I can’t do that, I have a son and shit, and like -”

He was genuinely taken aback when Benry began speaking, “i knew you were a thief.” He’d been so quiet for the first part of the trip, it had almost become possible to ignore his existence completely.

“What, no? I was literally just saying I didn’t want to-”

“you steal things by telling people you don’t want to steal things... and telling them to go away.”

“Benry, name one time I’ve stolen literally anything!”

“all the time.”

“ _ All the time _ !?”

“yeah, you’re always stealing shit, man, it’s fucked up.”

“I don’t - I’ve never -” His words died in his throat. Dr. Coomer had fully turned to look at him this time, back twisted so that he bent around the front seat, one arm resting on the median between him and Bubby. His gaze was intense, deliberate. What was going on?

“Gordon -” Dr. Coomer paused for a moment, mouth pulling as he considered his next words, “Do you feel... normal?”

Gordon's mouth hung stupidly limp for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer that, “Yeah, I mean, I guess I feel fine?” Something cold ran down his back. Probably just sweat.

“You haven’t…? Forgive me, how was your first night back?”

This line of questioning didn’t make sense. If it had been polite conversation, he would have understood. But there was something else going on here, that much was clear, and he didn’t care for it. “My first night back… was really, really - normal. Like you said. Why? Am I acting weird or something?”

Coomer’s expression dropped a bit at that, looking a bit melancholy, “Oh well... I had so hoped!”

“Wha - why would you hope that my night  _ wasn’t _ normal?”

“Well, perhaps - Gordon, Would you say that your first night back was  _ too _ normal?”

“uggghhh” The guard was groaning and sinking into his seat, Gordon couldn’t help but think of a wicked witch melting, “yes!”

Bubby chimed in, “No one asked you!”

“Benry, we can talk about your many issues and problems later, we are talking about our good friend Gordon right now!”

“Wait-” He was losing the plot quickly, something wasn’t connecting, “What the absolute fuck are we talking about? I am - I’m so lost right now.”

“Let’s not worry about it.” The traffic around them had come to a stand-still, causing the driver to tap his fingers irritably across the steering wheel. Impatient. ‘If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.” Know  _ what _ ?

“Ah, perhaps you are right, Dr. Bubby!” Dr. Coomer cleared his throat a bit, the cars around them revving slightly in response as they began to pick up speed once more. “But, Gordon,” His face had never looked this concerned for so long, there was always a point where any seriousness would melt away to be replaced with redundancy. Gordon’s mind wandered, flitted about the phrasing of  _ too _ normal. Maybe it all  _ was _ too normal, but was that a bad thing? “If there is something upsetting you, I’d like to know! Now, I’m no expert, but I  _ can _ tell there is something eating away at you.”

Oh. That was all they had meant. He’d always been an open book, admittedly. Still, he’d hoped to have much the same experience now as he’d had with Tommy: polite, shallow, vague. 

He hadn’t wanted to bring it up. It was a foolish thing, but he’d learned not to - well, not to rely on the science team for serious conversation. Any genuine concern might be met with mockery, an insult, or a cold shoulder. Better to stay light, meet them at their level, and not take it too personally.

But now, here they were, genuinely prodding him for more information. Wanting to know. Looking concerned  _ at _ him.

“I just -” Gordon’s shoulders slumped, he sighed with the motion, “ - I don’t know when the second wave is coming.” 

The car was quiet now, none of the others speaking as Gordon continued to gather his thoughts. It was tense, the silence pressing at his temples. He hated when it was like this, when he was the only one with anything important to say. “I don’t know if we’re on some watch-list now or - or if some military assassin is going to come and blow my brains out or something, y’know!” Dr. Coomer was still looking at him, brows upturning slightly. “Honestly, I should be asking why you guys aren’t freaking out too. But I know it’s cause - like, okay I like you guys but - but you don’t seem to know how consequences work? Maybe Tommy’s got Sunkist, and Dr. Coomer you’ve got your fists, and Bubby you’ve got…”

“I’m more powerful than you could ever know, Gordon.”

“Right, sure, I believe it after Xen but - I don’t have shit! I’m just…” Gordon struggled to put a word to it, something to sum up all of the fear and helplessness. “Me.”

The car was quiet for another moment, Dr. Coomer obviously thinking through how he wanted to respond. But just as he began to open his mouth, Bubby beat him to the punch.

“Well, that’s dumb.”

“Wha-”

“Don’t you think if someone was going to come shoot us they would have done so already?”

That was… a surprisingly good point. He’d been waiting for days now. Waiting for the inevitable pounding on his door or bang before the drop, but nothing had come. No punishment for their crimes, only Benry.

Maybe that was his punishment.

“And sure you’re worthless in a fight, but hell - you still made it back to the surface, right?” It was exactly the sort of antagonism Gordon had expected, but there was a genuine attempt at comfort underlying it all. He was shocked to find it worked at all. “So stop complaining.” 

Dr. Coomer added with a soft smile, “Nothing to fear, Gordon. Plus, I do believe we wiped out the entire US military!”

A small bubbling laughter escaped him at that, “No, Dr. Coomer, I’m pretty sure we didn’t actually -”

“No.” retorted Bubby, “We definitely did, I was there.”

“Uhuh, is that so?” he leaned back into the car seat, a lazy smile crossing his face, “Guess you’re right then, noooothing to worry about.” Obviously, a few joking words wouldn’t be enough to assuage any of his fears, but he knew there wouldn’t be much point in pushing it. They evidently weren’t worried, not that they ever worried much about anything. Dr. Coomer was already turning back to the front of the car, obviously satisfied with his work, so what was the point?

After all, Bubby was actually somewhat right. If he could survive Black Mesa, he could probably survive anything. It wasn’t something he wanted to test, he’d prefer to  _ not _ lose another limb, but he’d already beat impossible odds. Ultimately, he hadn’t even really lost the hand. It lay at his side, flush against the leather seat; bones, muscles, veins and all. He tapped out a rhythm with his index finger, as if proving the point to himself - he was still in control.

His thoughts were interrupted by a presence pulling at his attention. Benry was staring at him again.

The guard’s expression was somehow both aloof and relentless as he bore his gaze into Gordon’s face. Alright, two can play at that game. He leveled his gaze back at the man, chin pointed up as if challenging, daring him to say anything. As the seconds ticked on, both locked in a heated battle of eye-contact, Benry finally spoke up, “must suck to be weak as shit.”

Perfect, just when he was feeling somewhat comforted. “Thanks, Benry, really appreciated.”

Benry looked a little surprised by that, had he not picked up on the sarcasm? “yeah, you’re really, like, weak and fleshy and stuff. always needing a chicken hat.” The guard finally turned to look away from him, hands that were previously rock-still now fidgeting a bit restlessly in his lap. “probably need someone to protect you, or somethin’. that’s really sad.”

Gordon slumped further into his seat, any desire to assert his dominance swiftly retreating, “Do you really have to rub salt into every wound, man?”

“salt?”

“I’m trying to be nice to you, y’know, I know you probably don’t know what being nice is like -” Did he? A little voice in his head took the opportunity to remind him that the guard had been weirdly helpful recently. Cleaning up, stirring sauces, maybe that was… nice. A bare minimum certainly, but a start.

“...salt...snail man.”

Gordon swiftly squashed whatever was making him think like that. No mercy for devil’s advocates. Thankfully, the traffic had started to clear again, as if content with the conversation they’d managed. Before long, the highway wind was blowing across his face once more, obscuring any noise that might have troubled him with a harsh whooshing. The tug of the wind pulling his ponytail off his neck was appreciated, relaxing as the curls that framed his face whipped about, the sweat on his forehead cooling and drying.

Benry kept staring at him. Unnerving as always, but any time he’d try to catch the other’s glance the guard’s eyes would quickly dart away. The dance went on for a while, before Gordon decided that Benry could stare as much as he liked. He, for one, was going to close his eyes and enjoy something for once.

Something was mumbling beside him, “I can’t hear you over the wind, dude.”

“i said you’re ugly!”

Gordon mumbled a few choice expletives, but they simply blew away with the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to write Bubby so to my friend whose favorite character is Bubby *finger guns* this ones NOT for you!! *blows kiss*
> 
> Also, as I said before, I ridiculously appreciate all comments!!! SOOOO many people left comments after last chapter and it DESTROYED me, in a great way but I just have no idea how to respond like a normal human being to any of them dhfdsfgjksda


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is very, very silly. But it's my fic and so I get to be stupid.

Gordon checked his phone once more, watching the app ding - your destination is on the right - as they crawled along the street. They’d passed by a few times now, it was time to accept it for what it was. Time to look at where they’d landed and say ‘Yup, that sure isn’t an apartment.” Bubby evidently agreed, pulling onto the sidewalk as he reversed the car through the decorated entrance to 157 Landover Street.

Bushes obscured much of the interior, but it was clear what they were looking at even from the street. A sweeping parking lot, designed to always feel emptier than it was, tempting passer-bys to test the true capacity of the main facility. In the middle sat a warehouse, pointlessly large, corners placed with controlled chaos to make it appear even slightly more interesting than it was. There was a cop car by the warehouse entrance, a sure sign of frequent petty theft and parking lot drug use, but Gordon was more focused on the huge lettering that hung over the glass and brick facade.

“I didn’t know you lived in a Costco, Benry!” beamed Dr. Coomer.

Google would have warned Gordon ahead of time if he’d had the sense to check. 157 Landing Street was a Costco, it took up all of the hundred fifties of Landing Street in fact - the numerical convention was likely a remnant of a time long before bulk prices ruled this block.

Benry wasn’t moving, just sat there as the car drifted unevenly into a parking space, eyeing the warehouse silently.

Gordon was far from surprised. The only thing that surprised him was how little he could muster up the motivation to _act_ shocked. It was obvious that Benry would lie, it was a compulsion for the beast masquerading as a man. Anything to get Gordon to let his guard down for another minute, anything to prolong their unfortunate dance. But he had done what he’d promised, the guard could deal with the consequences.

“Well, Benry.” Gordon would have smiled if he weren’t so annoyed, instead it was all just bared teeth, “Home sweet home, right? Isn’t this great! Now if you would just get out of the -”

Finally, a twitch, “no,” The guard tilted his head a bit, eyes squinted, a faint grimace painted on his features. A few little droplets of red sputtered from his lips, drifting up into the sky with a discordant tone to accompany it, before Benry tsked and added “this isn’t my place.”

A soft tone echoed from the passenger’s seat, sounding like blue.

Gordon continued, voice as sweet as he could make it, “Well, that’s too bad -”

“should go inside, though.” He moved his gaze towards the front of the vehicle, letting the side of his helmet block Gordon’s view once more. “maybe they’ve got cool shit, i don’t know.” Good, he was volunteering, the rest of them would just have to stay in the car and -

“I would love to see your home!” Gordon winced, wishing for a guilty moment Dr. Coomer was not the way he was.

“No, I think we should really let Benry -”

Bubby was looking pensive, “Actually, yes, I think we should go shopping.”

“- get back to his _home_. Without us there. Alone.”

“Gordon, I’m hungry.” He sounded like he was pouting.

Dread was beginning to set in, “Yeah? We were going to eat at your house remember? You know, _after_ we dropped off Benry.”

Gordon watched as Bubby started pulling the keys from the ignition, “Gordon, they’ve got the cheap ass hot-dogs here!” His tone was as accusatory as it was resolute, the decision had evidently already been made.

“Yeah, and?” He really, really wanted to leave. “Those things fucking suck.”

“The soda’s only like fifty cents!”

“oh shit.”

What the _hell_ was with old people and Costco? There were a thousand things he’d have preferred to do in that instant than go shopping. For instance, he would have _preferred_ to kick Benry face first onto the asphalt and drive away, but instead his two comrades were giddily hoping out of the car, leaving him and the guard sitting alone in the back of the Cadillac.

It would have been more tolerable if Benry wasn’t looking at him so smugly all of a sudden.

* * *

Honestly, he should have stayed in the car. If it weren’t for the pelting heat he would have considered it, let the others play their dumb game while he sulked in solitude, but the siren song of AC had lured him in. He had made brief eye contact with the officer loitering by the entrance - the cop nodded his head slightly, Gordon scoffed - before cold air rushed over him as the glass doors slid open.

The sinking feeling came when he took his first step inside, tasting that stale air. The interior was tremendous, all metal and concrete, a jungle of boxes, crates, and perforated metal pipes that made up the aisles - stacked towards the heavens but never reaching the ceiling. And where would the aisles have made purchase if they could have reached that high? The ceiling was full: pipes, lights, _vents_ . It made him feel weak in the knees, everything was a maze, everything was familiar, but it was all _just_ a retail store. He wondered for a moment, slack-jawed and blocking the door, what it would look like if that ceiling collapsed.

Black Mesa had never been this bright, but Black Mesa _had_ had warehouses.

He’d only snapped out of it once Bubby literally bumped into him on the way in, winked and emphasized how he was going to get so many ‘cheap-ass hot-dogs’. The look was mischievous, and had done nothing to help relieve his anxieties.

He’d attempted to keep track of the other scientists for a while, watched them scatter about like toddlers at a park. It’d made everything exponentially worse. About the time when Dr. Coomer, ecstatic at the opportunity, had thoroughly entangled himself in a mess of bargain bungee cords was when Gordon checked out. He could only respond to the familiar sound bite of “Look, Gordon, ropes!” with a weak plea to return to the car. But the request had fallen on deaf ears. He let Bubby handle the extraction process.

All things considered, any distraction was welcome. He needed something to cling to, something easy and familiar, a routine he could fall back on amidst the oppressive maze that surrounded him.

“Do you really think I’m ever going to believe - do you - ugh! A Costco didn’t just spring up overnight on top of your apartment, man!”

“maybe it did.”

“No! It didn’t! Holy fucking shit, dude!”

They’d been bickering for ten solid minutes on the topic, making, predictably, no progress. They’d argued up and down half of the store by then, Gordon trailing behind Benry pointlessly as the guard just… touched random objects, looking vaguely confused half the time. It was a way to pass the time until the other scientists came to collect him. At least, that was his excuse. The way his own voice reverberated through his skull, that numbing desire for vindication, the strange little things Benry did as he wandered about, distractions, all of them - but as far as he was concerned, all entirely irrelevant.

The argument had garnered them a fair share of dirty looks, families skittering away to avoid the potent negativity emanating off the scientist. But he didn’t care, they’d be pissed off too if they had to deal with all the shit he’d had to deal with.

“must have, otherwise my apartment would be here?” The guard was pensive for a moment, looking down at the floor as he thought, “yeah, sucks ‘cause my ps3 -”

“Seriously, shut up about the ps3!” He’d surpassed the point of caring where he turned his anger, better to bicker like children about children’s topics. He wasn’t going to spend another ten minutes entertaining the idea that a retail store had fallen from the sky just to land on Benry’s apartment Wizard of Oz style. But good god was he not done arguing, not when the aisles were looming like that. “Like, aren’t we on the ps5 now, man? I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with a console that - I think it came out over a decade ago?” 

The guard looked up from where he’d previously been man-handling a Nerf gun, “huh?”

“Don’t get me wrong I get there’s like, the retro thing. But why the ps3, man? Aren’t you supposed to have, like, a ps2 for that? Or something Nintendo? God, I don’t even know! I play on PC - but even I know that shit’s ancient!”

“gordon.” Gordon was pulled out of his rant by the feeling of Benry gripping his arm, the sensation sending electrified ripples through his entire body. The feeling of cold flesh against flesh, the weight of it. Fear, anger, and sheer survival all bounced together in his brain, his muscles tensed, his heart sputtered. He needed to fight back, needed to escape, needed to - oh, that was a weird expression on the guard’s face. Confusion and pleading, and had he said his name? Gordon didn’t understand anything anymore. “there’s no such thing as a ps5… bro?”

“Uh… Yeah, I’m pretty sure there is?” The guard had thankfully removed his hand from Gordon’s arm, but the sensation still remained. He couldn’t help but rub at the spot nervously, thumb making little swirls until heat returned to the skin.

“... show me?”

Show… him. He could - he could do that. They were in a Costco, after all, they probably had something resembling a tech aisle. Somewhere.

Realizing he had been squinting at the other man, slack-jawed, he instead took to glancing around with mock purpose. “Uh, sure.” slipped out of his mouth dumbly. He just needed to go - in some direction. It would have to be methodical, not where they’d already been, just needed to dash about the aisles until something caught his eye. He began to walk, not checking if Benry was following.

They continued like that for a while, the guard now trailing behind, face unreadable. It was too quiet, Gordon thought, as he guided them through the cavernous maze of boxes. But it would be worth it, that little shred of vindication. The invitation to prove his point wasn’t unwelcome, even if it was deeply bizarre. 

Eventually, near the back corner, he found what he was looking for. Big boxes, blue, black, and white - some Fortnite character he only barely recognized as such plastered on the front. Were people even still playing that? He certainly never had, and Joshua was too young to have any concept of it apart from Youtube. God, every inch of this place felt like it was trapped in some dark reflection of the past - trying desperately to join the rest of society.

But any growing satisfaction at his find was lingering - it wasn’t a ps5. Ps4, of course, but that wasn’t what he’d _said_. He didn’t really want to deal with the guard's pedantry, as stupid as it was.

Still, _some_ satisfaction was warranted. “Huh, would you look at that?” He heaved one of the boxes into the guard’s unsuspecting hands - letting his face grow smug as he added, “Not a ps3! Weird. Almost like it’s the year 2020 or something, but don’t take my word for it or _anything_ like that.”

The guard was staring down at the box he’d been handed. His expression seemed… dazzled, frankly. Mouth hanging slightly open, that same creeping smile he’d had before Gordon had laid into him the day before. What, was he going to give him shit for it not actually being a ps5 or not? If so, he could eat shit, still wasn’t a ps3. 

Benry didn’t say anything though, just looked at the box like he’d just been granted one wish and didn’t know what to do with it. It was sort of becoming disgusting. Gordon needed to look at anything but the guard, couldn’t stand to watch him act happy about anything. Maybe he could -

As if summoned by Gordon’s discomfort, a lanky teen in a bright red vest came stumbling around the corner. Perfect, an employee, they could settle things quicker than he could. Stumbling in their direction, Gordon gave a little wave in hopes of catching their attention, “Hey, do you guys sell Playstation5s?”

As he drew nearer, concern started to nip at the edges of his conscience. “I was… Sorry, sir, I was supposed to be - was in the back.” Wow did they seem lost. Legs wobbling, they looked as if they’d just stepped onto some foreign planet. “Sorry, must have… zoned out. Wh-What did you need?”

Gordon temporarily considered checking to see if they were okay. No, that would probably be rude. He'd been there before, so lost in thought that he couldn’t remember what he was doing. It likely wasn’t safe for him to be so careless, not anymore, but he wasn’t about to make this person uncomfortable by bringing attention to it. “Yeah, I was just, y'know, wondering if you guys have any Playstation5s?”

The teen squinted a bit, voice still wavering somewhat, “I mean…” They looked about with uncertainty, eyes eventually landing near Benry. The guard glared back in response. Well, at least he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Our Playstations are right here, sir?”

That wasn’t a good sign. “Sure, I mean, there’s Playstation4s here - but what about the Playstation5?” 

“I don’t know if we have that in stock, uhm…” A pause, “Sorry, It’s actually my first day - I can check with my manager?”

Okay, he didn’t actually care that much. “No. No, it’s fine. Thank you anyway.” Probably just saw something about it in a press conference or something, figures.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help, is - is there anything else I can do for you though, sir?”

If ‘wanting to leave’ was a person, it would have looked like the kid standing in front of him. Eyes darting away, legs already bending to move, and face flushed with nervousness. It would have been the kind thing to do - to say no. “Actually, there is.” He’d always been a bit of a dick, he could admit that. Now at least someone else would get to experience his misery. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there used to be apartments here or something, would you?” The chances were slim to none that a new hire would know. It was unlikely any employee would know, for that matter, unless in-depth knowledge of the history of the store was now a necessary qualification to make minimum wage. It didn’t really matter, all he needed was an obvious ‘Yes, this Costco existed a week ago’ - that little bit of additional vindication.

“A-apartments?” 

“Yeah, like, I don’t know - was this Costco built super recently?” He waved his hand about with uncertainty, “Like, there used to be something else here but then they tore it down for the sweet deals or whatever.” Gordon caught movement out of the corner of his eye, Benry was… doing something, he couldn’t tell what.

This was obviously a new line of questioning for the poor kid, though. “I-I mean I haven’t worked here long and I- I mean not really?” Was Benry opening the box, what the fuck? “I think.. I think when I was a little kid it wasn’t here? Like - like my mom still complains about the new traffic and stuff and -” the guard was sliding something under his hoodie. _Oh_ \- “- built it around the time that -” Oh, no, no, no. “- abandoned that old creepy government thing in the desert -” _no, no, no, no, no_.

He was going to kill Benry all over again, he was going to wring that little shit’s throat and yell until his throat couldn’t make any more sounds.

And, oh god, was he walking over to them now? What the absolute fucking hell.

“hey, what’s up?” Benry’s hands hid in his hoodie pockets, feigning rest but obviously holding something up. The blunt angles poking through the fabric certainly weren’t helping. “you gonna stop talking to your cringe friend so we can go?”

More feelings of familiarity pricked at Gordon’s mind. God, was he glad Benry didn’t have a gun. “This person isn’t my _friend_ . This person’s an _employee_ . Benry. An employee with, y’know, fucking _eyes_.” Focus on the frustration, no need to think about a pistol aimed to their forehead, a lifeless corpse, no hint of remorse. No need to think about any of that.

“ooooh, shit - you have some sort of employee id?” The teen was shaking now, eyes darting desperately between the two men, taking little glances down to the guard’s stomach. Eventually they nodded, short and brisk, like they were scared to move too quickly. Maybe they were thinking about it too, but how could they have known? “yeah, i’m going to need to see it.” When the police officer out front saw them, would a pistol be aimed at his forehead too, would he be a lifeless corpse? Didn’t expect cops to feel remorse either. He would fight back of course, but what chance did he have? He felt like he was without a hand all over again, no weapons to rely on.

“It’s literally on their shirt, oh my fucking god.” He broke his ‘no touching’ rule to jam his elbow forcefully into the guard’s side, hopeful that would convey the message of ‘holy shit, do not do this’ successfully enough. Benry, for his part, barely acknowledged the action. Guess that was it for the flinching, Gordon would miss it dearly.

“alright -” Benry was leaning towards the employee now, they definitely did not like that. “yeah, checks out. you’re good, man, hope you have a nice day.” 

As if satisfied with his work, the guard began to sulk away, head tilting as he muttered “this way” to Gordon. Gordon, for his part, continued to stand awkwardly with the now thoroughly overwhelmed employee, “I don’t suppose you could just, uh, not tell anyone about this?”

“I-I think I have to?” They looked moments away from crying, god this sucked.

“Okay, I mean - that’s fair - you do what you have to do, right?” Gordon tried to smile, it probably didn’t work. Maybe following Benry was the right call after all, he’d probably be labeled an accomplice either way. Trying with all his might to give one last apologetic look, he stiffly dashed after the other man.

Benry was making his way further into the back of the store, further into the maze and further from the exit. 

“What the _absolute_ **_fuck_** is wrong with you? We’re not in Black Mesa anymore, _bro_! You can’t just - you can’t steal shit!” Gordon desperately wanted to shake the other man, grab him by the shoulder and make his anger physical. But his hands only hovered and jabbed, still avoiding contact.

“huh? i didn’t steal anything?” The perfect image of aloofness, not a care in the world. “can you calm down?”

They’d reached the back wall, his voice echoing off the plaster. “ _Literally_ , we are in the real world! Have you ever heard of it!? Or are you too busy living in your - your own fucked up world of delusions to remember that we can’t just **_murder_ **everyone like you’re fucking used to!” Two girls were staring at them now, voices in a hushed whisper as they backed away from the commotion.

“you’re really loud, man, maybe you should try being less loud?” 

Benry was eyeing the emergency exit doors. “Is this some sick punishment because of the robbing a bank thing? Is this your stupid idea of karma or some shit because! Guess what! You fucking got me, dude, I’ll have learned my lesson _real good_ after we’re caught and executed for treason all over a dumb fucking **_PLAYSTATION_ **.”

The moment Gordon’s voice pitched, Benry’s boot was slamming into the back door - the frame smashing wildly into the exterior bricks, alarm bells ringing with the impact. He’d definitely broken something, if the metallic thud were any indicator.

“oh, dude, sick as hell - did you see what I just did? ah-hAH.”

Gordon couldn’t help it. It just came out, like a sneeze or a drunken thought. He actually laughed, a heavy intake of air and a wheeze. Wha - why did Benry do that? It - it was a push door. It wasn’t even locked? What a completely unnecessary thing to do and he looked so _proud of himself_.

But there wasn’t time to dwell on it, as they slipped through the wrecked door into the blazing sun. His heart beat faster, anger bubbling in his chest and rising into his throat as chuckles. Why? Why was his body doing that?

They’d need to make a beeline for the trees on the far end of the parking lot - but wow that was a ways away. Hiding wouldn’t do them any good, there were only a few dumpsters out back, nothing that the cop out front wouldn’t check immediately. So running it was, he only wished they hadn’t had to leave Dr. Coomer and Bubby behind, but -

His thoughts were cut off abruptly. Screeching around the corner came a blazing streak of white - absolutely covered in the most convoluted web of bungee cords he’d ever seen. Every inch of the Cadillac had something strapped to it: jewelry, microwaves, three lawn chairs, soda cans, an absolute menagerie of unrelated gunk. All of it was outshone by one item, however: the flat screen TV strapped precariously to the back, wobbling dangerously over the license plate.

He couldn’t believe it.

No, scratch that, he absolutely could believe it.

Bubby was screeching at them, waving wildly as the car one-eightied to a stop, “Gordon! It’s time to fucking go!”

He didn’t bother opening the backseat door, just threw his body over it, wheezing as he tumbled onto the cushions. Oh, wow, why was he laughing at this? “I can’thheeheh believe this, i-i’m _so_ tehHEEHHAH **_mad_ ** !” The Cadillac popped and bounced as Bubby switched gears, “Bubby, I swear to fucking _god_ -” he kept interrupting himself with his own laughter, “you’d better -” snorting, “ - you’d better kick this shit into high gear, man!”

“You better fucking believe that’s what I’m doing!”

This was absurd! They were all going to die for real this time - they weren’t armed! Gordon wondered how many cops Bubby could run over with his car, the idea tickling him.

“Oh boy, I am positively filled with adrenaline!” Oh! Dr. Coomer made it, that was great! He was so angry at him too! 

Employees were streaming out of the back now, one woman who looked distinctly managerial pulling the bewildered cop from earlier with her. There was shouting, running for the car, as Bubby continued to fumble with the gears. Gordon wanted to shout so badly, wanted to laugh in their face, wanted so badly to be anywhere but there in that moment.

“Hey, pig!” Oh god, he was doing this. “Do you even know how many people _we’ve_ killed!? You don’t have _shit_ on us, dude!!” Giggling, he probably looked psychotic, “ **_Fuck off_ **!!!”

A gun shot rang out, a sharp shatter and twang ringing to his right - but there was no time to mourn a lost microwave. The shout of “What the fuck are you doing!?”, the manager grabbing the officer, was lost behind the roar of the car finally lurching forward.

And then they were blazing through the parking lot, ricocheting back onto the highway, ducking and weaving through traffic. The ropes holding the stolen goods to the car tensed and protested with the sudden movements, the TV screen trembling. The complaints of the Cadillac itself were hardly audible over the rush of air and the chorus of honking cars, but Gordon could still hear himself giggle and shout despite the chaos. The other scientists bolstered the uproar, a cacophony of screaming and “They didn’t expect the SCIENCE TEAM!” - accompanied by a mocking squeal of “~whoAh!! Grand Theft Auto:San Andreas!! WOOO~” His heart pumped earth-shatteringly fast in his chest, but he didn’t even care anymore. The adrenaline that spilled through his veins, the cocktail of fear and anger and laughter, was a familiar friend - he’d missed it. Three days and he already missed it, but, god, when he felt this way he knew he was going to _survive_. Knew he was going to make it to the next fight. 

Knew he was going to live _forever_.

He felt something grab at his arm, something cold and sturdy. Following the feeling, he looked down and back at Benry, whose teeth flashed behind a goading grin. He’d unearthed the stolen PlayStation at some point, and with the hand not clawing at Gordon was pointing to where it sat in his lap. A teasing lilt slipped into his words, his eyes crinkling a bit, “hey, why’d you steal this?”

Gordon’s giggles melted back into guttural laughter just as the rope holding the TV snapped - all fifty inches plummeting to the asphalt behind them, a hundred pieces scattering after the impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO so I did definitely have this chapter already mostly planned out before the Payday stream RIP - if my Gordon is more of a coward than Wayne's Gordon that's just how it is, Dr. Pussy over here.
> 
> Also sorry I dont know why but I just find something about Costco VERY FUNNY. I haven't even been to one since I was a kid but there's just something so liminal space about them - like Ikea but at least Ikea is like, cool. It wouldn't be half as funny to steal from an Ikea though.


	8. Chapter 8

He wasn’t going to live forever.

He wasn’t even going to live a particularly long time at the rate he was going. 

Frankly, he should have been prepared, numb to it by then. The daring hero, desensitized to fear. What was stress after Black Mesa? Hardly a word anymore, a constant state of being, something that could be defeated just like aliens, and soldiers, and otherworldly nuisances. 

Survivors should just stop feeling it after a while, that was the expectation. The pesky weaknesses of their mind slip away to reveal stronger and greater versions of themselves with each challenge. The realization of self, the recovery, the proverbial ‘Level Up’. Like taking that second dip into the water, never as cold as it was the first time.

So why did he feel like he’d slipped through the ice?

His legs were aching again, but the discomfort didn’t keep them from shaking under his fingertips as he grasped desperately at his shins. His hands were caught up in trying to trap the antsy limbs against his chest. Head curled into the hollow between chest and leg, forehead resting on the knees that tapped and tapped - compelling his mind to do the same. It was relentless, the sensation of heels beating against leather cushions. It was all he could concentrate on.

Focus on the breathing, the in and out. Match it with the movement of his legs. Tap, tap, tap.

Something nagged at him to stop scuffing the seat, a new component to the whirlwind of anxiety swirling in his mind, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. The energy needed to go somewhere, even as he curled ever tighter into himself. His legs shook because anything else would be worse.

The others were uncomfortable - he could tell, even felt their burning gaze every once in a while as they drove. It made him consider jumping every time, the image of his body cartwheeling over the door beside him, smashing into the asphalt below. Scattering into a hundred pieces. Unfortunately, his back was almost super-glued to the corner of the back-seat. Must have been, why else would he be stuck, his mind’s desperate pleas to run cut off before they reached his body? So, he could only be seen. No escape, just the ongoing torture. Glances from beasts that only half-cared melting through his skin, straight to the bone, always to the bone.

He was just a play-toy, a pet, amusing when it hissed and growled. How cute must they find him.

No, focus on the tapping. Fingers to match, tapping on his legs, breathing in and out.

He’d had moments like this in Black Mesa. Caught in the eye of the storm, late at night when he could crawl away from the others and be unrepentantly quiet for a while. It didn’t suit him, the feeling of a black hole in his chest so dense it ate up all his words. But there it was, time and time again, always when everything slowed down. 

It was better when things were moving, when he had a next step, an objective. It was better when he wasn’t sitting in the back of Cadillac, curled up on himself, trying not to wonder what the point of it all was. He couldn’t sleep, not when they needed to go - make it to the surface, make it to the Lambda lab, make it to the end. Always the chance for death lurking around the corner, always the chance something could go wrong, always bright eyes staring at him in the darkness as he shook - watching, never saying a word.

He didn’t want to die. Not to aliens, not to the government, not to Benry - certainly not to _cops_. But all he could do was wait for the sirens. Nothing to do but wait.

Unlike him, the others had not grown quiet once the adrenaline seeped out of them. Chattering as usual, throwing an occasional question his way, confused when he ceased to answer. “Are you alright?” someone had asked. No. The world ended, yet he was still here. How could that possibly be alright?

And so they’d turned to other noises.

At times he’d tried to guess the colors, eyes squeezed shut against jittering legs. Perhaps he’d just wanted to know if they were talking about him - calling him weak, or gullible, or any number of other things. That anxious paranoia of hearing a conversation you can’t understand, knowing it _must_ be about you. Must be about the loser they’d roped into it all, what else could they have had to say as he rotted away in the corner.

It had started out low - blues and greens maybe? Before the tones were quickly spiraling about the spectrum. Dr. Coomer always stayed deep - the high notes came from the man to his right. Ducking and weaving through frequencies, obviously adept at it, almost carrying a tune at times. Like a song from another world, not quite recognizable but _something_.

He’d once heard that the foundation of all music was the heart. Not in a silly, sentimental way - quite literally. That steady beat, the pumping of blood, all fundamental to what it is to be human. As far as he knew, people didn’t make music without that unspoken rule: that the heart would beat along.

Benry probably didn’t even have a heart.

He couldn’t hope to understand, he wasn’t fundamentally capable of it. Tommy would just have to deal with that.

But it was the least of his concerns, the others had grown quiet by then. The only sound that remained was the rushing of wind, something that _must_ have been sirens on the horizon - must, how could they have not been followed - and the furious pounding of his _own_ heart. That tapping on the seat, relentless, humiliating.

Then there was the sensation of the car slowing, bouncing as it scratched onto dirt and gravel, plunging him deeper into that ice-cold well. He didn’t know why they were stopping. Dread settled in his stomach, had something gone wrong? Were they going to kick him out, abandon him on the mountainside?

If so, good. He needed out, immediately, or he was going to pass out.

“Alright, we’ve stopped.”

Clammy hands on the door handle, every movement unsure, he tried not to collapse out of the door-frame. His arms were half static, he could not possibly have felt more like a robot, but he just needed to leave. The only safety was on land, far away from the car covered in gunk. Better to find refuge on a nearby rock, leaning against it and ignoring how it scuffed his arms.

It took everything in him not to lie down on the dirt.

“Gordon, I’m worried you may have come down with another case of the crumbles!” Dr. Coomer was beside him, patting down his own shirt, a jauntiness to his step. He looked at Gordon more quizzically than anything, a hand reaching to tap his mustache as he regarded the mess before him. “Now, I read on Wikipedia that -”

“Why don’t you guys care?” His voice was gruff, not ready to be used.

It was a dumb question, he knew it was. The type of question they would have ignored before. What made the current time, the current place, any different? But he wanted to know, wanted desperately to understand why the only person falling apart was him.

Bubby had joined them in time to hear it, and both of the other scientists seemed taken aback. That same quick glance at one another - _why_ did they keep doing that? He _hated_ it. Hated not being in on whatever bullshit they were all planning on inflicting him with.

Bubby was the first to speak, a condescending confusion plain on his face as if responding to the delusions of a child, “Uhhhh, I mean -”

“Why do you want me dead?” More to the point.

“What are you _talking_ about?”

Dr. Coomer’s expression could not possibly have fallen further, mirroring Bubby’s face only in the confusion. He really wished the older man would stop pretending, “We don’t want you dead, Gordon... Wherever did you get that idea?” He couldn’t stand to look at him - he didn’t know if it was lies or a complete lack of self-awareness. 

He felt himself mumbling, a faint “You _did_ ” that even he barely heard. He had. But Gordon, stupid, foolhardy, desperate, and lonely, and pathetic - had been willing to forgive that. 

But what sort of friend lets you just… confess your fears like he had, just to turn around and shove them all back into your face? What type of people would it take to walk out of hell, just to volunteer to go back in?

What type of person just puts up with people like that?

There were easier targets than Dr. Coomer, and he needed to be mad. Mad at anyone but himself.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Bubby.” Addressing the myriad of angles the elderly man was, his two hands waving wildly, “You keep trying to fuck me over, but I’ve never done anything to you but try and help, man!”

The bespectacled man raised a brow, expression haughty, “I mean, can you blame me?”

What an _asshole_ . “ _Y_ _es._ ”

“You come into _my_ home, fuck everything up, then go gallivanting about like you own the place.”

“I was trying to _save you_ , _man_!”

“Let me finish - then Dr. Coomer and I save _you_ from your own mess.”

“ _Save me_??” Gordon could have punched the other man, would have if the promises hidden behind past threats weren’t bubbling back into his memory.

“Yes, then you don’t even have the common decency to get the Costco hot-dogs with us.” Bubby was pouting, it was absolutely ridiculous.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize not trying to get the _police_ on our tails was a lack of _common decency_.”

An idea had obviously popped into Bubby’s mind, the realization dazzling in his eyes. “Gordon, listen, because I’m about to tell you the truth you _don’t_ want to hear -”

“Dr. Bubby!” A shout and a plea, before the other scientist attempted to resume his friendly tone - to little success, he sounded pressed. “This has certainly been, well, something, but perhaps we should -”

“ _No_ , I want to hear what he has to say!”

A sharp grin spread across Bubby’s face, hands raised in mock excitement - as if he was sharing a secret that only they were in on. “None of it matters.”

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

“Doesn’t - doesn’t matter!? It’s my _life_ , man! I’m pretty sure going to jail for stealing a bunch of useless garbage _matters_.”

“You’re not listening, dumbass.” His voice almost gleeful as he hammered it in. “It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“Gordon!” Desperate now, “Perhaps we could discuss this back at my home - after you’ve had the chance to relax, hmm?” Hand wringing, he’d noticed that nervous tick before - when things had gotten dark, a solemn question of ‘None of this is real, is it?’.

Of _course_ it was.

“Why?” All he had left now was anger, no lingering concern nor sympathy. “Why should I get back in the car? Why should I trust anything you have to say?”

“Because -” Dr. Coomer paused, gathering his thoughts. “He-” Mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water, or a robot with a glitch. “Gordon…”

A realization hit him suddenly, with all the impact of a truck, as he watched the stout scientist sputter. It was as amazing as it was dreadful, a complete shift in the very fabric of the world.

“I don’t have to put up with this.”

He felt his whole body relax with the resolve of it. He didn’t need to put up with it. He really, really meant that, too. They weren’t stuck together, fighting for survival, dealing with each other because what other choice did they have. He could just… leave.

So he did.

There were protests as he turned, walking away from the men he’d once dragged out of hell. They were not enough to be convincing, quickly pittering out to nothing as he refused to look back. He had made up his mind. He could leave, had all of the world to run off to. No walls, no mountains, no impairments to keep him tethered - just him and his phone. He was going to leave, and he was going to figure it out. Alone. He’d order an Uber, and he’d handle whatever consequences lay before him when it came to that.

He glanced back only once he was sure he would see nothing more than the blur of a white Cadillac fading in the distance, the visage unsteady in the sun. The universe was broiling, drops of sweat crawling down his back, but the freedom of it all made the heat bearable. The rush of cars passing by, kicking up dirt as he trudged along the shoulder of the road, distracted from it. 

A few pokes at his phone - the nearest gas station was only a ten-minute walk away, perfect. He was already heading the right direction, how convenient was that? A boon from the fickle universe he inhabited, a reward for finally figuring it out. ‘Good job, Gordon’ it said, ‘you remembered you’re better off alone.’ 

It would have been nicer if he wasn’t being followed.

Something had grasped at his throat, sputtered in his heart when he’d first acknowledged it. A sad, small inkling of hope rising in him, hoping to see balding heads on the horizon - intent on making amends. But he’d choked back the feeling. He had made his decision, he wasn’t going back on it. A glance wouldn’t hurt though, just to check.

But, no. He wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Leave me alone, Benry.”

The guard nearly stopped in his tracks, briefly alarmed by the acknowledgment, before continuing to lumber after him. 

“yeah, nah - can’t do that, gotta’ follow you.” He looked miserable, face sour as it often was at rest, but it looked like it would approach a full-blown scowl with any more time. Gordon wasn’t particularly interested in finding out. He had a mission, he was going to continue on it, he wasn’t going to bother looking back at Benry any longer. “cause, uh… you might try stealing something again. like you stole this playstation?”

Face forward, towards the objective, ignore all distractions. “You’re not a security guard anymore, so why does it _matter_.”

“huh?”

“You’re not - ugh, what does it matter, man?”

“it matters.” The words were quiet, even for the other man, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Gordon considered looking for a second, just to see whatever expression had accompanied that bizarre proclamation. Maybe there was none at all, eyes just as bored as always. Seeing wasn’t worth it. “it matters to you… all... big mad and shit.” 

A few beats of silence, Gordon wondered if, for once, it was only tense for the other man.

“you’re upset all the time!” It was obvious he was struggling, his voice devolving into a whine, but why? Gordon didn’t want his words. Why go through the effort if it was evidently such a monumental task? “i don’t get why you’re so angry, bro. but i - you could calm down. and i - someone could help you. calm down, maybe.”

Gordon stilled at that. Every muscle twitched and tensed, the pressure of everything sitting on his skin. He shouldn’t have stopped, shouldn’t have even entertained his wayward limbs like he was. But, for just a moment, he needed to ruminate in it.

He hated Benry. So, so much.

“You were supposed to go away, **_asshole_ **.” The motion of his body turning so unexpectedly must have spooked the guard - there the flinch was again, subtle but there. Benry’s eyes were wide, his balance shifted, a controller almost falling out of his arms.

It was _infuriating_ , “You were supposed to be dead! I was supposed to be **_rid of you_ **!”

“wha-”

“Why? Why do you hate me so much!?” He’d devolved to a whine himself, so desperate for anything. He knew the other man hated his guts, wanted him miserable and dead, but what had he done to deserve that? “Why are you so dedicated to making my life an absolute living fucking hell, man?”

“i don’t -”

“Jesus fucking christ, dude! Don’t you get that I want nothing to do with you?”

Gordon let the impact of his vitriol sink in for a moment, letting it sink in as much for himself as the guard. 

He needed to go.

Curtly turning heel, he let his arms swing like dead weights with the motion, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand. By his estimates he had six more minutes left to walk, the promise of gas station AC beckoning him - he wasn’t going to die of heatstroke, not to Benry’s satisfaction.

“cool. alright.” Defensive in every syllable, Gordon could have laughed. Why had he been so scared of Benry, before? He was a pathetic, lost creature, barely a threat outside of Xen. Even in Black Mesa, he’d needed soldiers to do his dirty work for him. And, now, here he was - a sensitive child, blubbering because Gordon had been oh so _mean_ to him.

All bark but no bite, laid low after he’d been defeated. It suited the guard, to be even half as miserable as he made _him_ . Gordon sincerely wished more of it for Benry, he hoped he felt like _shit_.

For now, however, he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t need to put up with it. The guard could follow him if he wanted, but this time he wasn’t giving him the honor of a response. He was just going to keep moving, never looking back.

Perhaps most importantly, he didn’t need to prove anything to Benry. That was the part he had missed before - he didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. Not that he was a leader, not that he could be quiet, and not that he was okay. He wasn’t any of those things, and, god, wasn’t that freeing?

So, what do you do when you see a ghost? Do you panic, do you flee - call an exorcist to your home and try to pretend you haven’t gone mad?

No. You ignore it, realize it’s not real, and let it slip away.

By the time he reached the gas station, Benry was gone.

* * *

The ride home was quiet, stiflingly so. The roar of the AC, cooling his solemn spot in the backseat of a grey Ford, the only constant sound.

The Uber driver wasn’t talkative, though he looked the type who might’ve been in the right circumstance. Gordon was not the right circumstance. He’d checked his name on the app before he’d arrived - Phil - and god, did he look like a Phil. An older, doughy man, shockingly pale despite the sun, with a voice that hinted at years of cigarettes tossed out the window. Gordon figured he’d be the friendly sort, the type that would have asked about his family if he’d let him - or where he worked, unfortunately. 

Thankfully, when Phil had asked with a slight twang, “Where we headin’?” - something in Gordon’s voice must have said all that needed to be said.

The silence freed up a lot of time for Gordon to just… think about it. He’d spent a lot of time hovering around the edges of ‘thinking about it’. He’d been distracted, lonely, spiteful - but cautiously optimistic, always focused on moving forward. He needed to eat, needed to sleep, needed to call Angela, go to the store, check the news, and pretend nothing had happened. Determined to get past the next obstacle, like the world was just a series of checkpoints.

Maybe it was all he knew now. Survive the resonance cascade - check. Get back to the surface - check. Get to the Lambda lab - check. Kill Benry -

Check?

Out of the window, he could watch the mountains passing by, orange to blue in the distance. He should have found it more beautiful, maybe found some awe in that majesty of nature. Foliage climbing up the cliff sides, but it always looked so dry to him. Burnt under the harsh sun, clinging desperately to life. It was a sad way to live, refusing to face the uninhabitability of the world you called home. Desperate, like it had something to prove, as if it didn’t spend each passing moment yearning for rain which may never come.

He missed Massachusetts, missed the rain and the cold. The summer storms, violent but soothing, a cacophony of noise - he’d always enjoyed them. He used to sit on his dorm balcony to watch the downpour, on nights when that steady patter could distract from looming deadlines. There was something gorgeous about it, a view of the whole world melting. Everything around him drowning, with the sky rumbling as if it threatened to fall.

Nothing where he lived now drowned, just cracked. Even when it did rain it was light, sprinkling before laying dormant. Then it just collected, stagnant. Bubbling and grimy, the light reflecting off of it in strange ways, not the way the street lamps dazzled off Massachusetts’ puddles - brown water with a sheen like gasoline, too many colors yet none of them beautiful. 

He wasn’t really thinking of New Mexico water.

It had been vile. The smell was dreadful even from behind the mask, not really sewage most of the time but certainly run-off from something. But it never really moved, just sat and collected - grime, chemicals, and death. The way it stuck to the body, soaked into everything it touched. It was impossible to breath down in those depths, oftentimes too murky to see. He’d had to rely on instinct, hope, the others - all for a chance to make it back to the water’s surface, always back to the surface.

It’d been worse after he lost his hand, of course. That burn, sickening nausea, the knowledge that he couldn’t keep his rotting flesh above the surface - the stench, that just got worse and worse. He imagined greens and reds melding, bruised dark-purples in places, a bit of stained white poking through the muscles. The greens and blacks were the problem, concerning, terrifying - needed to get to the lambda lab before he passed out, needed to cover the wound, needed to -

Red to green means ‘that wound looks unclean’.

“Whatchu’ hummin'?”

The low, gruff accusation startled him back to the present, heart stumbling about in his chest, left hand grasping dangerously tight around his right wrist. He took a sharp breath, must have been exhaling for a while, and dropped his hands back to his side. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been making a noise. The driver must have thought him insane - and maybe he’d be right. What _had_ he been humming? What was he supposed to say?

It took him a second to speak, mouth dry and throat rough - overused and underused in too quick of succession, he was amazed he was not mute by now. “Uh, sorry - just drifted off I guess… sorry.”

“No worries, just checkin’ - thought maybe you were havin’ a stroke or somethin’.” Phil’s gruff laugh reverberated through the car, vibrating through Gordon like a purr. 

He would have liked to laugh back, be jovial and friendly, but something had been severed - some piece that connected his thoughts to his actions. He could only continue to stare blankly ahead, adrift in a sea of nothing, until the uncomfortable silence resumed. 

It was better that way, he didn’t need anyone to like him. They never had, so what was the point in trying now.

* * *

When he’d gotten home, exhausted and wretched, he hadn’t expected a visitor.

Certainly not a black cat waiting by his door.

It pawed at the frame, whipped and curled its tail in frustration. The dirt in its fur matting, some crust around the eyes, and a slight limp he hadn’t noticed before. It was hungry, he could tell that much. Not that he was an expert on cats - just knew they were always hungry. Haughty, terrible creatures, cats, drawn only by their most primitive instincts.

Suitable, seeing how easily they died.

He didn’t let it in, wouldn’t have wanted to get its filth inside. Instead, nudging it aside as he pushed into his apartment, he thought about water, and aches, and guns, shouting, darkness, so much more - and nothing at all.

Later, wrapped in a blanket, he would think about it all over again. He was back to staring at the ceiling, ignoring his phone this time. Just thinking and not thinking all at once, letting himself just sit, bubbling and stagnant. He was quiet for once, with nothing to say.

He spent the night like that, drifting off to sleep eventually, though it’d never quite felt like he was awake. 

Then came Sunday -

Then suddenly Monday.

A marvel of time travel, truly, how was that even possible? The world was so different after the incident at Black Mesa, time seemed to flow all wrong, and was that so bad? He could just sleep forever like this, thinking of water tapping on a dorm patio, ignoring missed messages. 

Wake up - check, reheat lunch - check, back to bed - check.

Easy-mode, he preferred it that way, frankly. He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I know maybe this chapter seems like kind of a huge step back for Gordo - but hang in there! I'll make it up to you next chapter, I promise!!
> 
> And, a reminder that you can come yell at me at [yeahalrightdude](http://yeahalrightdude.tumblr.com)!! I need to put a reminder in every couple of chapters just to expand the opportunities ppl have to say words at me! Listen, be it comments, tumblr, etc - you don't have to yell at me, but i WILL love you forever if you DO!!!!!! (because you are all the nicest people on earth, and that's a fact.)
> 
> Lastly, shout out to [archaicnightfall](http://archaicnightfall.tumblr.com) for relieving my anxieties by reading through this chapter before I posted it!


	9. Chapter 9

Gordon had been out of Black Mesa for five days, which was almost as long as he had been _stuck_ there.

Greater men would have taken the world by storm by this point - turned their lives around, done the things they were too scared to do before, climbed mountains because their brush with death had taught them they _could_.

But Gordon had wasted every single day.

He’d spent the first two days grasping desperately at a folly, convinced that if he just kept his chin up the universe would be gentle. Still in shock, maybe, some part of him still in the research facility - addled and wowed by a new world with few edges. Obsessed with the idea that everything would return to normal. And, for that, he was an idiot.

Then, it had only taken the one day to remind himself he had no friends, that he had _no one_ who could understand. He had surrounded himself with freaks and buffoons, but in the end the biggest joke had been him.

Now, he’d finally gotten the hint to look back on his life, and acknowledge that the only common denominator was _him_.

Not that his life had been a constant sequence of Black Mesas, god forbid, but it’d never been something worth returning to either. For one, no one _liked him_ . He was always that guy, too controlling, or too angry - too loud and busy and boring. So, he’d let himself get swept away in it, let himself believe that somehow his worst was acceptable when the end of the world was imminent, let himself believe that maybe someone was weird enough to _like him_ for once. But, for all he prided himself on being _intelligent_ , he had been so horribly stupid.

None of them liked him, they just liked how they could force him to put up with it. 

Two days he had spent marinating in that, letting it sink in that he was worse off than ever and it wasn’t going to get better. There wasn’t any magical solution, his life was the way it was and would always be. His car was gone, his job was gone, and his spirit was gone - he would always be too afraid to fix any of that. So there wasn’t a point in trying to get to the next obstacle anymore, the obstacle was just him, and he wasn’t prepared to face himself.

So instead he just rotted, and he let everything else rot away too. He was too tired to care anymore. It had all been pointless, every moment that had led up to the present. He should have just died in Black Mesa.

He wished he could slip completely into that feeling, let it envelop him and eat him away entirely, but it was hard when he wasn’t alone. Isolation would have been a treat, an invitation to melt into a puddle of pure loneliness. But, no, there always had to be visitors.

For one, there was the headache that came and went, but always lingered on the periphery of his existence. Spurned by a dehydration he could not quench, a frustration he could not satisfy, far too much sleep yet somehow not enough. Between the here and there, kitchen to bedroom, it ebbed and flowed. It felt worse when he moved, and it felt worse when he stayed still.

Then there was the whole ghost thing.

When he’d first noticed the hoodie folded neatly on his living room table, he’d been gnawing mindlessly at some leftovers, thinking about how it had felt to go hungry. The twisting stomach, that bitter taste of his tongue, a better lesson than any nutritionist could have given on why eating _soda for lunch_ was a bad call. So, he should have been happy, body full of nutrients as it was. But he wasn’t. Food just didn’t taste like anything now, it seemed like a waste to have made something so edible when his body didn’t deserve it. Pizza would have been more befitting, exactly the sort of food to wallow with.

But then there had been a hoodie, just sitting there as if it belonged. Innocent yet terrifying all at once, with it’s large blocky letters spelling out the acronym of a college he was pretty sure he’d gone to, once upon a time. He hadn’t wanted it back, but that was almost certainly the point. 

He didn’t know how he could feel rejected by someone he’d never wanted anything to do with in the first place. Yet, there it was - a new component to his grief.

So, the garment remained. Sitting, neatly folded, forever - never to be washed, much like everything else around it. Caught in the flow alongside him, bad to look at but bad to ignore.

It was better when he was asleep, then he could ignore the things that wouldn’t go away. Time skimmed by so fast, thoughtless, sightless, rushing towards the end, unconsciousness his only savior. Even when it was restless and awful, a nightmare about fangs sinking into his temple, the same maze of never ending corridors, or the cracking sounds of bones breaking as everyone laughed and laughed, at least it wasn’t _real_. He could handle that, unreality, the ever stretching void that awaited him. Succumbing to it was easier to stomach than the slow tick of the clock. He just… desperately wanted to sleep until it was all over.

Until _what_ was all over? Maybe he would have had an answer for that at some point - but now _it_ was just a feeling.

But, the point was that he wasn’t alone. The hoodie was enough of an indicator on it’s own, but sometimes things moved in unexpected ways - just little things, belongings gone missing, chairs shifted aside, the distant sound of running water.

He hadn’t been running the sink this time, he would have sworn by that. He really hadn’t.

But it all brought him to some present moment, hovering in the door-frame of his bedroom as he watched a white mug sit, utterly unassuming, on his kitchen table. Little rivulets of steam drifted lazily skyward from a dark liquid within, inviting him to take a sip.

His eyes squinted in confusion at first, eyeing the cup as if it were poison, waiting till the rotting meat of his brain whirred back to life. Had he done that? He couldn’t remember preparing anything, but the process of making coffee wasn’t particularly intense. It was something he had done mindlessly every morning when he had a nine to five. It was entirely possible he’d just forgotten. Time moved all wrong lately, the little moments just splintering and floating away. He could have easily made a cup without ever noticing, his hands tracing patterns from a time when his life had purpose - it wouldn’t be all that strange.

He watched himself as if in third person as his body meandered towards the table, moving to grab the cup as if he were in a dream. The heat of the ceramic was soothing, warmth seeping in through his fingertips as his hands wrapped around it. It almost approached scalding, and for a moment Gordon mourned that it had not burned him. Anything to feel well… anything. But he must have made it long enough ago for it to have cooled slightly. Which made it all the more pressing that he finish it off soon, not that he was too good for cold coffee in his current state but, well, it would be nice to grant himself some little pleasantries. Raising the mug slowly to his lips, taking a drawn-out sip, and - 

Coughing, sputtering, rushing to the sink and spitting it out - that was _horrendous_. Gritty and bitter, specks of coffee grounds still clung to his tongue. The sudden movement ached in his bones, an urgency to it all that he hadn’t felt in days, and it was all horridly unpleasant. God, he was pretty sure that was… someone had definitely just poured a fuck ton of coffee grounds in a cup and stuck the concoction in the microwave. Black coffee was awful enough, who in their right mind would try to make it any worse.

He would _not_ have done that.

One hand through his hair, stuck in the tangles, the other still clinging to the edge of the sink, he just let himself exist on the edge of the counter for a moment. Staring into the chrome of the sink basin, obsessed with how the colors shifted when he wobbled slightly. 

He deserved that, he wasn’t sure for what, but he did. It suited him, all the right ingredients mashed together skill-lessly until the result was vile. He appreciated the metaphor even as he loathed the execution. 

Maybe caffeine _would_ have helped. Would have woken him up from this dream, certainly. But he didn’t really want to wake up, he liked being able to sleep now. No distant sounds, no eyes gazing into his soul, no obligations, just a paradise of soft sheets and self-loathing.

He would have to remember to ignore any mysterious drinks from now on. He wasn’t alone but -

Ghosts would go away if he ignored them.

* * *

The stretch of time that connected Monday and Tuesday wasn’t any less vague, the days melting away into darkness when he wasn’t paying attention.

There _were_ differences between night and day, easy to ignore, but they were there. That soft light through closed blinds, bright even as he compelled the sun to dim itself. The universe had no right to be so vivid, so alive, when he was anything but. Over forty-eight hours since he had last showered, he was smudged on every layer of his being. Dried sweat and oil, clogged pores pushed into dirtying pillow cases. Even his thoughts were dull, a meandering wave drifting between self-pity and apathy, ever shifting as they stumbled in the surf. He was disgusting.

Maybe that was why he’d fallen asleep on the couch that night, too ashamed to wrap himself in his bed-sheets any longer. Not when he lacked the ability to clean them. Not when he lacked the ability to clean himself.

It didn’t hurt that the sun never quite reached that far into the apartment, always lingering near the kitchen window instead. Natural light threatened to make him feel even a minuscule bit better, and he didn’t want to feel better. He didn’t want to know if it was night or day. He didn’t really want anything, except maybe to forget.

Or, barring that, he would be content with any suitable alternative. The guest room blanket was still there, alongside the pillow he had lent his intruder. He let himself be cocooned in it, let whatever sitting debris envelop him. If there was a sickness to be found, he was inviting it in and making it tea. 

Maybe it would kill him in his sleep, and wouldn’t that be nice? Silent, peaceful, painless.

But, as usual, he would have no such luck.

He would have guessed it was late at night, if he’d cared enough to, when he first awoke. Slowly, groggily shifting from restless sleep to unconscious awareness, he was only dimly aware of the presence next to him. 

The world was cold, and dark, and the gargoyle perched on the sofa arm behind his head was no different. Even as some small light illuminated the creature’s face, bringing the beast into focus, it only served to highlight the resting scowl, the hollow cheeks, dark eyes always slightly lidded with boredom. Apart from the scuffed metal enveloping it’s head, there wasn’t much else he could see, not that he cared much how the other man looked.

And those dark eyes didn’t even bother to stray in his direction, “you look like shit.”

“I know.”

He really didn’t need Benry to tell him that, he felt it in every inch of his body. Shit was what he was now, and maybe what he had always been. 

Some part of him noted that he should have been terrified to see the other man, that he should have hissed and growled and jumped at the assailant, but he wasn’t. What would have even been the point of that? It was his reality now, it was only strange that the guard had been gone for as long as he had. Those little truths of the world - birds fly, grass grows, and he was going to have to put up with Benry until it literally fucking killed him.

He kind of wished they could hurry it along to the killing part at this point, he was sick of being afraid of it. Sick of waiting.

Regardless, there still was a deep-seated dread that accompanied the guard’s visage, but it was overshadowed by the apathy. He just wanted to get back to sleep, wanted to not think about it. Benry could stalk him all he wanted, Gordon’s brain was too hazy to care. The other man could sit there with his weird, bright box and -

Actually, that was probably going to get in the way of sleeping, wasn’t it? In fact, it was likely what had woken him up in the first place. He’d just ask the guard nicely if he could spare the basic fucking decency to -

“I-is that my phone?”

“my phone now.”

Twisting around enough to stuff his face into his pillow, obstructing the blue-light from his eyes, Gordon let out a much needed groan. He didn’t care. It was awful, infuriating, maybe even soul-crushing, but Gordon _wouldn’t_ care. Dying men don’t need phones, anyway, Benry could have it. He was going to sleep, for fuck’s sake, and he wasn’t going to think about it for even a moment longer.

“too bad you, uh, ‘want nothing to do with me’, ‘cause i sure do have your phone.” God, was he still talking? ‘would sucks for you if i left and didn’t give it back.” Gordon wanted him to shut the fuck up so, so badly.

But then he was looking back at the guard, and the guard was looking at him, shadows casting harsh angles on his face from the outline of the ever-present helmet.

“i wouldn’t do that though, cause I’m nice.”

“Please, for the love of god, shut the fuck up.”

Gordon’s plea only earned him a mocking imitation, a stream of immature noises spilling from the other man. Alright, so there was going to be no reasoning with him. He shoved his face back into the downy pillow, forcing himself to breathe deeply until his mind stopped whirring. Softly, gently, in and out - concentrate on that until it was all he knew.

Maybe it had worked, he couldn’t tell. Sleep was fickle, hardly different than waking for him since the day he’d walked out on the other scientists. The line that separated him from unconsciousness was wider than he had ever known before, a liminal space that could have stretched into forever if he’d let it. Maybe he had slept, for minutes, hours, days.

But before he knew it, there he was again, back on that couch staring up at Benry.

The headache was beginning to nip at him again, head even foggier from oversleep. He couldn’t keep doing this, he needed to stop trying. Everything in him warred, torn between the desire to drift away and the desire to finally, somehow, wake up.

Perhaps he could settle for a distraction.

“Why’d you come back?”

“huh?” The guard seemed a bit alarmed, maybe he had thought Gordon was asleep again? It almost made the familiar soundbite tolerable. Plus, anyone would be lost in that early morning confusion, that time of night where everything feels unreal.

Though Gordon still wasn’t sure if Benry even slept, not really.

“Like, I left you on the... side of the road, y’know?” Oof, his mind was melting. Each word just felt like it was clumsily following the last, his tongue tripping over each unanticipated syllable. “You, uh, we’re not trapped in Black Mesa so - you didn’t need to come here.”

He could tell the guard’s face was pinched in confusion, even in the low-light. “what are you talking about, man?”

“Uh, the - are you seriously… saying you don’t remember Black Mesa?”

“no, what? what road?”

Gordon tried his best to wrap his head around what the hell was going on, to no avail. He was too exhausted for this, too dirty, and rotted, and stupid. Why was the guard being so obtuse about something so idiotic?

“Do you really not remember, dude? The highway back from the... Costco.”

Benry’s face was somewhere between perplexed and pained again, Gordon’s phone now sitting idly in his lap. Then, as if startled by a revelation, the other man’s face warped into a smirk, his once lost eyes settling back on the scientist. “i remember you stole a PS4, still don’t know why you’d do that.”

Jesus fucking christ, “Literally - _you_ did that, asshole.”

“nah, i remember. you stole it. i remember because im so cool at remembering everything. seems like you’re the one who forgot stealing it.”

The grin was teasing, obviously intended to rile him up, but the guard was going to be sorely disappointed if that was the case. He’d been angry for a fraction of a second, but then it had just… settled. All of his vitriol was used up, his essence stripped bare until it was revealed that was all he’d ever been. Anger and stress, and now he was nothing. He’d lost something quintessential, and he wasn’t sure he could get it back, even if he wanted it.

The guard’s grin was fading, shifting more into a look of discomfited boredom. Any other time, and Gordon would have been smug about that, but right now he just wished they would move on. He was bored too.

“i don’t remember the highway, sounds like you made it up.” Gordon didn’t respond, instead pulling absently at a thread that had separated from the blanket he was wrapped in. “and also this world sucks, bro. sometimes it’s all… shit’s brain and fucking -” More threads, the blanket was falling apart, maybe if he pulled it would fully unravel. “I wish we were back before you walked in all like ‘fuck you im gordon freeman bleugh’ because, like - i just wanted to - then you were just -”

There were a few remaining moments of tense silence before the guard returned to tapping at his phone, mumbling under his breath, “remember that you were mean, though.”

That had been... something, barely made sense but it was something. Maybe the guard really was lost, but if so that only raised more questions. Had Benry always forgotten things like that? It was genuinely hard to tell, what with how much bullshit the man conjured up in his deluded mind. He’d had moments in Black Mesa, though, confused about Gordon’s severed hand but… Gordon had presumed that was mockery, an excuse to pester him in the most cutting way possible.

It was possible it had been both, Gordon could make sense of that. And, possibly, the genuine confusion had only grown worse for the guard. Maybe it was a side-effect of being defeated, or maybe his connection to Xen had been severed. Perhaps the eldritch being just didn’t know how to adjust to the real world, that would certainly explain some of the other peculiarities. Becoming more real would have its unfortunate side-effects, which might explain the -

“Why do you keep flinching? Whenever I move too quickly or - y’know, anything like that.” It was another dumb question, but he was evidently past the point of keeping up appearances. Maybe, for what little it mattered, he could at least reach some minimal understanding. “You wouldn’t have flinched before.”

“you…” The question had apparently been arousing enough to divert the guard’s attention from the phone for another brief moment, his gaze wrenching away from it to instead look at Gordon incredulously. “killed me?” 

Ah, okay. Made sense.

Except for… it didn’t really, there was still a lot left unexplained. But he could wrap his head around the basic concept - he _really_ was mean, after-all. A murderer, factually. It just so happened that Benry deserved it.

The mean and the meaner, and - god, if he was stupid and irritating, what did that make Benry? 

Not that dumb, maybe. After-all, the guard wasn’t the one who had foolishly believed himself the victor. That was him.

Gordon only realized how lost in his thoughts he’d become when the dumbfounded expression on the guard’s face retreated to look elsewhere. Benry was once more scrolling idly through his phone, the guard flicking his fingers as he passed by a thousand points of information in a second. There was something… contrived about it all, something unseeing in Benry’s expression, that told Gordon it was all horribly purposeful. He wasn’t really looking at any of it, couldn’t have been, even a computer couldn’t have read all of that so fast. A distraction, perhaps, not for Benry’s sake but - for his?

Gordon would have fallen for it before, would have argued the original point too quickly to catch the fakeness, but in his exhausted silence the truth was laid bare. Benry was literally pretending to check his phone, like he was trapped in an awkward conversation at a party. Absurd.

“I - we didn’t though… right?” He tried to wrap his tongue around the words, willing his mind to drift back towards the purpose. Benry was _still alive_ , but he hadn’t said ‘you tried to kill me’ - he said ‘you killed me’. Two distinct things, really only tangentially related in practice, but did the other man even know the difference? “You’re still alive. You’re sitting right in front of me, dude.”

The guard continued on with his performance, hardly shifting his head as he spoke, “yeah, doesn’t work like that. it’s like -” A pause, the other man actually stopping to look at something he was scrolling past for once. Curiosity almost roused Gordon from the pillow to look as well, but, no, better to stay where it was soft. “nevermind, you’d probably just get upset again if i told you.”

Gordon wanted to be offended by that, wanted desperately to be the version of himself that would have lashed out with indignance. But the fatigue was still too deep, he couldn’t have been more than mildly irritated if he tried, and wasn’t it true anyway? Getting upset was all he knew how to do. And now he was broken and bent, sinking into his own couch while his arch-enemy idled away on his stolen phone. The only words he could wrangle out were a meager, “I can handle it - I’m not stupid, y’know?” He could have laughed, why was he still trying to convince the other man of that?

“i didn’t say you were stupid. uh, maybe if you listened you would… notice I didn’t say that?”

“Sure…” A pointless conversation, like usual, it was too much to expect anything else from the entity hellbent on harassing him. It was a pity, he actually would have liked to know. 

Maybe that was just one of the universe’s big jokes: the secrets of life and death hidden behind a man too obstinate to reveal them. Gordon had been thinking a great deal about life and death recently, and had reached no satisfactory conclusions. Just an ongoing vortex of emotion, and lack thereof, instead. He wanted to know, wanted to pull back the curtains and see the audience for once - instead of performing in the dark comedy his life had devolved into. He wanted to know if, well…

Maybe it was better to be dead. But only Benry would know.

“Did it hurt? Does - _does_ it hurt, when you die?”

“uhhhhh, yeah, fucking blows, bro. feels like… lame.”

Huh, Gordon had actually expected the answer to be ‘no’. Maybe if only for the purpose of the guard aggrandizing himself, but the truth was far more fascinating. But before he could dig deeper into what that _meant_ , he was caught off guard by the growing feeling of something pricking at his conscience. Some semblance of humanity pulled at him despite his apathy, digging deep into his nerves. An unwelcome visitor at the edge of his exhaustion, compelling him to say something, anything, to relieve it even a fraction.

“I’m sorry”

“what?”

“I’m sorry it hurt.” 

He meant it, actually, that was the worst part. He hadn’t known it had hurt. Frankly, he had fully assumed the other man could not feel pain - he hardly responded to anything that should have inflicted it. Shotgun shells through malleable flesh and punches that should have broken noses, little had ever garnered a non-ironic reaction before. Only rarely did the guard react appropriately to any physical harm, and even in those instances it had been… lackadaisical, played-off, brilliant blues to crimson punctuated with a purple that said ‘It means he’s okay’. Maybe it hadn’t really meant anything.

“I’m not sorry that I killed you, but I’m sorry it was painful.”

There was still no response, did he need to say more? “It would probably be nicer to die painlessly, right?” His heart drooped with his words, what a horrendously obvious thing to say. ‘Pain hurts’ - pointless drivel, like any poignant thought he might’ve had to say had seeped out of him. What was the point in apologizing to beasts, anyway? 

But Benry was looking back at him again, his dilated, dark eyes drilling into Gordon’s grimy exterior - but his brows were turned upward, lips slightly parted. The guard looked… confused as usual, sure, but also strangely sad. The eyes darted about Gordon’s face, searching for something, but Gordon was pretty sure all he was giving the other man was a puzzled grimace through the darkness. He couldn’t guess what Benry was looking for there, he was too far gone to say anything but worthless garbage, really. He almost wanted to tell the guard as such, warn him that he wasn’t going to find a hidden message in the wrinkles around his eye, but the heavy weight of being observed held his tongue.

It was a long wait before the guard’s mouth suddenly slammed shut, eyes growing wider, an embarrassed flush traveling across his cheeks. Back to the phone then, mechanical and fake as he scrolled senselessly, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Gordon couldn’t help but laugh, the feeling escaping as a sharp outtake of breath, causing the other man to tense only further.

Gordon hadn’t known Benry could blush either. Pain and embarrassment, what a duo. What was next in the long list of human behaviors? Maybe soon he’d get to see what the guard looked like drowsy, or sick, or _terrified._ Oh, perhaps he would get the opportunity to learn what eldritch beings look like when they’re drunk. 

Maybe alcohol would prove to be _actually_ poisonous for whatever species Benry was, and wouldn’t _that_ be a treat. A slow painful death - the idea made the splintered factions of his mind war once more. He wanted the other man to suffer, so why did he feel bad for causing him pain? 

It wasn’t a difficult question, in truth, he wasn’t actually enough of an asshole to _not_ feel bad. It would have been simpler if he was, then he wouldn’t have to care that no one liked him. But something gnawed at him, some little part of him that _did_ care. He cared what people thought, he cared about his morals, and somewhere deep down remained a sad, sad fragment that cared about the guard. Some remnant of a time when ‘I’m getting everyone out of here’ had included Benry.

“didn’t hurt that bad, it’s cool.”

Right… what - what had they been talking about? Gordon could hardly remember, his thoughts trailing out of his brain like ooze. He felt like he should probably say something. That was who he was, right, the guy who says something? What an obnoxious thing to be.

“Right, uh - sure, okay.” A horrible performance, a complete miss. He took to rubbing his face against the pillow case instead of dwelling on it, feeling how the oil on his cheeks shifted with the movement. He wanted to sleep again, to let himself drift away and forget about awkward conversations. He didn’t need that mortifying ordeal, he would have honestly preferred to _not_ be known. Certainly not by the guard.

But then the other man was speaking again, something swiftly approaching his face. Not a fist, or claws, like he might have expected - nothing that could have ended with his timely death, finally putting a stop to this charade. Instead, Gordon found his own phone hovering a few inches from his nose, his eyes blinking rapidly as they tried to adjust to the sudden brightness.

“yo, check this out, bro.”

It was… definitely a picture of some cats. Cute ones, sure, Gordon could admit that. He used to love shit like that when he was a kid, when he was too young to feel emasculated by cooing at something warm and fuzzy. He used to love cats as well, before he learned they were disgusting little assholes. 

But there was supposed to be a joke here, he was sure of it. There was something about the caption, or maybe something about the interaction between the two kittens? He couldn’t - could barely read the words, frankly.

Wow, he really was out of it, wasn’t he?

“Uh, what am I supposed to be… looking at? I don’t -”

It didn’t help that there were a ton of things going on on-screen apart from the image. He hadn’t realized he’d have so many missed calls, and missed texts from -

Oh.

Oh no.

Well, that was one way to wake up.

Desperately grasping at the phone, snatching it out of the unsuspecting guard’s hands, he tried not to skyrocket directly into panic. His heart was hammering, trying to keep up with the jump between extremes, and his whole body screamed with the effort. Shoulders tense, back straight, face no longer resting on the pillow because _what had he been thinking_.

“wha- chill, man.”

She’d understand, she’d _have_ to understand or he was fucked. Oh god, she wasn’t going to understand. They were going to have to have a _conversation_ and there was nothing he wanted less than that. The very thought had his throat catching, his eyes watering with dread. He wanted to see his son, he really, really did. Why had he forgotten that? What sort of awful, pathetic, despicable person forgets about their own son like that? 

He could almost see the puzzled look on Joshua’s face, too young to understand. I’m sorry, honey, your father’s half-dead, too busy rotting away in his grave to even think about you. Too busy being a complete waste of air, falling apart at his seams, talking to ghosts. 

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t face them if -

No, no, _no, no,_ **_no_ **.

“ _Did you message my_ **_fucking ex_ **?”

“yeah? what are you going to do about it?”

He was going to kill him again, he meant it this time. He was going to go grab that steak knife from his room and jam it directly into Benry’s cold, dark, non-existent heart. And he was going to laugh as he did it, because he wouldn’t give a _damn_ if it hurt. He hoped that miserable, awful, evil, son of a bitch felt every inch of the blade and -

> _Sunday (10:12am)_
> 
> Angela: Hi! Are you still available to see Josh next weekend?
> 
> _Monday (8:22am)_
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> _Monday (12:35pm)_
> 
> Angela: LOL okay???
> 
> Angela: ??
> 
> Angela: Are u still good with the regular place & time?
> 
> _Monday (12:37pm)_
> 
> _Monday (12:38pm)_
> 
> Angela: LMAO i guess we’ll see you then?????
> 
> _Monday (12:45pm)_
> 
> Angela: And, Gordon, I wanted to apologize for getting so heated on Thursday. I didn’t really give you a chance to explain yourself, and I need to be better than that.
> 
> Angela: So, thanks… for joking with me. I’m glad to see we’re still cool :) 

Oh, uhm… that’s - Okay.

“i figured you’d want to see your dumb kid?”

He was staring at Benry, he knew he was, mouth probably wide open like an idiot, too. 

But, how was he supposed to feel about this?

“looks like i’m the, uh, big hero here, actually.”

The adrenaline was starting to seep away, but its memory was still there in every muscle, the burn of it ever present. Anxiety, anger, and relief all wanted to mix in his mind, but none of it could find purchase, the chemicals that wracked his body colliding in too many dissonant ways. He was just confused, unsure of how he _should_ feel. 

No, that wasn’t entirely true, he knew how he felt - completely, utterly, and unequivocally grateful. He shouldn’t _have_ to feel grateful about _that_.

Who the fuck thinks that's an appropriate way to respond to a complete stranger? Especially about actual adult - fucking, serious things. What the absolute, fucking hell was wrong with Benry?

But it had worked, Angela wasn't mad. Somehow, miraculously, everything was okay.

It was dumbfounding. His world had been shattered again, and he was so mad about it.

He hated Benry, hated him with every facet of his being. Even when doing him a favor, he had to be so _irritating_ about it. But then, behind it all lay a reality he did not have even an ounce of energy left to deal with. The man was a menace - so why was it fair for him to be… accidentally kind like that? Why was it fair for the guard to - to save him from his own self-inflicted disaster for no fucking reason? 

Maybe it really had been an accident, an attempt at humiliating him further gone awry, that _had_ to be the catalyst. Just like the coffee, which was a dumb prank to get him to drink hot garbage. Or, like when Benry had told him he could help him calm down along the highway, an obvious setup to insinuate he was weak and pathetic and - and -

And Benry had cleaned the kitchen. Gordon hadn’t pictured it before, but he wondered how that had looked. Surely the guard would have just used some… reality bending power to dispose of the disgusting leftover milk, but he didn’t know that. Then there was the idea of the guard, petulant and moping, but huddled over a stovetop trying to puzzle out what Gordon had forgotten to do. ‘I stirred it while you were sleeping.’ Why? _why_?

Maybe Benry actually thought that was how coffee was made? He would have found that funny if he wasn’t so upset by the idea that Benry actually had the capacity to be nice. The capacity to be polite, at least, a good guest while bunking in his home. 

Which was - it made sense, weirdly enough. The guard was a creature of rules and regulations, not ones that were convenient or congruent with reality - or not fucking insane, frankly - but perhaps it wasn’t really that strange. The agreement they had wordlessly made was still in place, he had never brought Benry back home so it had to be. 

Benry was going to be tolerable. Not great, not even good, but away from retail outlets and stuck in his apartment, he was just. there.

He would never stop hating Benry, and he wasn’t sorry about that. It was his right, and it was what the beast deserved. But he… he didn’t know anymore, really, where the line was crossed.

He could look back on his life and identify that common denominator, see that all the arrows pointed at him. But that wasn’t supposed to include Benry. Benry was a cruel joke, a living wall that moved only to stand in front of him, a punishment from the universe. He wasn’t _supposed_ to be tolerable.

But... maybe Gordon could be tolerable too, just for a bit.

“Uhm, thank you, for - for messaging… yeah.” He steadied himself, his mouth was far too dry. He regretted the words the minute they spilled out, but he needed to say them. “Thank you. I mean it.”

There was another moment of uncomfortable eye-contact before the guard’s mouth contorted into a smug grin, teeth too jagged. He hated seeing Benry happy, the sight only made the world feel that much heavier. 

Too heavy to stay awake any longer, better to slip back into that empty abyss now that the chance had presented itself. The adrenaline was wearing off entirely, leaving him more tired than ever. He could drift away for a few days longer, couldn’t he? Shoulders sagging, head falling back onto that pillow, the universe wouldn’t need him until the weekend, and he was intent on keeping it waiting.

But then there was something being held out to him again, intruding on his well-deserved limbo. A… controller? Black and bulky, one hand gripping the left handle of the gamepad as it was lazily passed in his direction.

He raised a brow at the other man.

“hey, you said you’d play playstation with me, bro? so are we going to play on this ps4 you stole or what?”

There was a choice to be made here, Gordon could tell. A decision he couldn’t back out of, potentially even worse than saying ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’. He was far too broken to shape his life in these ways, too vulnerable to be expected to hold darkness at bay, yet here he was. 

A voice that was so quintessentially his rang out in his mind - ‘do not go gentle into that good night’ it pleaded. But it had been dimmed, a deep sadness overtaking it. If rage was all he was, then he would have no peace, but he didn’t want that - he wanted it gentle, he wanted -

“I don’t want to keep fighting.”

“then don’t?”

He took the controller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship ended with ‘enemies’, now ‘friends’ is my best friend.
> 
> OK I regretted the meme thing immediately when I started doing it but I’m not going back on it alright? I think unfunny people, like me, need more rights.
> 
> I found extremely varying accounts on whether or not a cup of 50% coffee grounds to water stuck in the microwave would actually be an awful experience, so if that’s something you actually, uh, drink regularly. I’m sorry. I don’t drink coffee, so in truth I really wouldn’t know.
> 
> LASTLY, kind of in relation to me taking a while to get this chapter out - I felt really bad that there were comments that I wanted to respond to last chapter but felt like would be silly to respond to an entire week late. So, what I’m going to do this time around is literally respond to every single comment I get on this chapter. Immediately. I will literally drop what I’m doing to respond, this is the game I have decided to play against myself. You know what they say, first thought = best thought, baby!!!! If this sounds like a bad deal to you I am so sorry, but also I still really appreciate your comments because it is basically the only way to know if anyone is still reading dsghjfgsd


	10. Chapter 10

Gordon wasn’t good at console gaming.

He wasn’t sure if it was a matter of finesse, or some factor of experience, but the controller just felt entirely wrong. The shape of it foreign in his hands, too unfamiliar to ever feel quite comfortable. His fingers couldn’t help but confuse the buttons, getting lost in the in-betweens, precious little muscle memory to guide them. It didn’t help that the sticks lacked the pin-point precision of a mouse, especially when _aiming_ was involved.

It didn’t bother him that he was bad at it, he was bad at plenty of things. Like aiming a _real_ gun, for one. But he had an excuse for this deficit, which is that he rarely ever used a controller in the first place. Not that he hadn’t played console _ever_ , but… 

Well, truthfully, he hadn’t gamed much at all recently. Before the incident, he’d always been too busy with his job. With something to do, something to prove - living day to day like games were a hobby for children, immature to waste one’s time with.

He _didn’t_ think that, would have vehemently denied it had he ever been accused. But, everyone _else_ did, and he cared a lot about what others thought.

He would have been eleven, maybe twelve, when his dad had sat him down and told him he was getting too old for it.

Because he was going to be a _middle schooler_ , the idea was laughable now. Like that meant he was supposed to grow up all at once - be productive, be collected, be everything that the right type of people are.

So, he was _supposed_ to pack up the GameCube and Xbox, leave them behind in pursuit of loftier ambitions. He’d have no time anymore for sneaking under the covers, the only light cast by his Nintendo DS, hushed and nervous that his parents might hear him breathe too loud in that space between night and morning. No time for pins of Pokemon his classmates would laugh in his face for liking, even if he didn’t care how stupid they looked because _he_ liked them, even if he knew he’d keep liking them _forever_.

He hadn’t liked them forever. That was the thing. He’d relented. You need to get some skills, kid, show the world you’re worth a damn - so he had. He’d reached that 4.0 GPA, joined the swim team, joined the robotics club, took AP classes, whatever it took; almost punched a wall once, seething and self-loathing because he’d only gotten a 1940 on the SAT. Because who would settle for the _ninetieth percentile_ when the _ninety-ninth_ existed - certainly not his parents, not his high-school sweetheart, not anyone.

He’d spent years feeling like he needed to be something, like he needed to be remembered.

But he wasn’t really that guy, not in a way that mattered. When he’d first moved out, it had been akin to an awakening, the sudden freedom of no one knowing his face. He was allowed to _like things_ , and it didn’t matter if those were the _right_ things. For the first time, he actually _liked_ physics, wanted to learn about the universe for more reasons than just the prestige of a STEM degree. And, more than ever, he wanted to be that kid again, the one who’d spent hours every night playing Pokemon FireRed.

So, he’d never really had any consoles - he’d learned that consoles were for people privileged enough to be gifted them, but computers were _everywhere_ . During college it had been easy to justify the purchase, because sure he likely didn’t need that much ram to run MATLAB, but it didn’t _hurt_. 

The all-nighters pulled playing counter-strike were just an addendum, and they didn’t mean he wasn’t _productive_ or _smart_ . He could do it all at once, he could stream late at night, just him and his ten viewers, and return to everything else in the morning. He could be pulled in a thousand different directions, and be just _fine_.

Except, he couldn’t. He’d really proven that a hundred times over, hadn’t he?

* * *

Gordon knew the signs of a passing dawn quite well, particularly how the rising sun slipped through his kitchen blinds. He’d experienced it more than enough, coffee and phone in hand as that little bit of panic rose within him - because if dawn was breaking, that meant he was already guaranteed to be late. Toss any breakfast that remained, grab his keys, out the door - a lesson never learned a hundred times over.

So it had come as a thoroughly unpleasant surprise when, finally glancing blearily away from his living room screen, he did _not_ see that little pink tinge around the window pane. Only the glaring light of a new day lay beyond that threshold, and that was _upsetting_. Not just because he’d continued to so thoroughly lose track of time.

But because he’d lost track of time while spending it with _Benry_.

Which was, maybe - kind of - he had an excuse, ok? He’d spent _days_ filibustering his own existence, sitting and waiting for a resolution that would never come, body and soul wasting away. But he _enjoyed_ this, playing games, it was only a testament to his foolishness that he hadn’t considered returning to it until now. 

When things had felt bleak in the past, he’d always known where to escape to, and what made now any different? Sure, none of those times had been during the aftermath of his own narrowly dodged demise, but that didn’t make it a suddenly unreasonable approach. And, sure, maybe it wasn’t actually productive in any meaningful way, but he’d already long since given up on _that_ concept. What was productivity anyway, apart from a notion conjured up by a totalitarian society to reap the rewards of your labor? 

What mattered was that he could get all of the sweet brain juices he needed. Dopamine, serotonin, histamine - as slow as the mush of his brain seemed to be moving, he was still pretty sure at least one of those was both a neurotransmitter and one that could be associated with productivity, maybe. He wasn’t a medical doctor, he didn’t _need_ to know.

What mattered is that he was having _fun_ , and he was doing so _despite_ the guard. Gordon was, for the first time in days, almost functioning. And it was all thanks to a simple yet effective system designed to keep a man coming back time and time again, that satisfaction behind simple yet attainable goals. Run, shoot, win. Checkmark to checkmark, a hell of a lot easier than being a human making the best of his own pointless existence.

So, yes, he’d spent some indeterminate amount of time playing Borderlands with a man he’d once hated with every fiber of his being, but it was _fine_. Borderlands didn’t even have friendly-fire, and neither of them favored the same guns so there was no argument over loot. Plus, it helped that Benry was…

Well, surprisingly not that good at console gaming either.

Perhaps not as mediocre at it as Gordon was, certainly, but hardly past decent. Honestly, that had been surprising. For all the excitement, Gordon would have presumed the guy would at least be capable of carrying. But the guard was just - ok? 

Apparently he hadn’t even known what Borderlands _was_ , had never even heard of the series until Gordon had offhandedly suggested it, which was absurd. What backwards alternate reality did a guy have to reside in to know Heavenly Sword but not Borderlands, it didn’t make any sense. And, yes, he’d made that thought abundantly clear to the guard, but he’d only receive the usual prattle in response: “can’t be that good. if it was I would have heard of it.” Sure, bud, double down on that credibility. He wasn’t convinced.

Still, despite all protest, they’d played Borderlands. Because it was universally appealing enough, for one, but also because of that unspoken truth that was as conspicuous as it was discomfiting. Despite everything he’d come to presume about the tumultuous relationship between him and the beast that now lingered opposite him on the couch - Gordon called the shots. He got to decide what they played, because it was his house, it was his invitation to refuse, and, after all, it was supposedly _his_ stolen PlayStation.

So, Benry didn’t know how to play and that was - nice, actually. Frankly, he likely wouldn’t have been able to put up with it if the other man had been any good. His greasy hair stuck to greasier skin, mouth dry and brain foggy, but at least the gameplay wasn’t a constant reminder of his inadequacy. Even with fingers as fat and inelegant as they were, he was still an opponent, and he could still contribute. Benry didn’t have the leg up necessary to truly wound his pride any further.

Plus, any ribbing could be returned in full, completely merited, and Gordon was more than happy with that arrangement. Little goading lilts concerning kill-counts and chicken hats could be met with a steady stream of retorts, a stream of teases, a refusal to revive until the last possible moment. 

Which was funny - watching the other man lose, that is.

Certainly not any of the back and forth, and not anything Benry had to say. Not any of the stupid observations, none of the dumb role-plays pretending NPCs could hear him, and especially not the incessant pleading to ‘please let me duel you, bro, please. friends duel each other, man’. Being overrun by enemies because the guard had insisted on bringing them all back to his position wasn’t funny, it was _irritating_.

And that was true even if he _had_ laughed.

Which had been as much of a surprise this time around as it had been at the Costco, but so much lighter somehow. Not the panicked malfunctions of a man on the brink of a plunge, but a genuine relief that escaped his throat, remorseless and unexpected. A chuckle and a snort here and there, still difficult, because underneath the guise of a purpose he was still so, so tired, but present nonetheless. It lifted something at the back of his skull, made the pressure release from his bones, even as he couldn’t really place the cause of it all.

It was probably just the neurotransmitters, a bunch of little rewards zipping around his nervous system whenever impact text alerted him he’d done damage. That was how video games worked, after all, he was smart enough to know that even as he was dumb enough to fall for it. And, so what?

It actually _helped_ that none of it mattered, that it was all just a game with no real consequences, no desires or personal morals to bother with. He could lose a thousand times over, and sure that was _frustrating_ \- very frustrating, if he allowed it to be, old memories white-hot and shameful of neighbors knocking on his door asking that he ‘ _shut the fuck up_ ’ - but he could always just try again. He could kill a thousand enemies, could let Benry kill a thousand more, and feel no remorse, because it didn’t say anything about him as a _person_ , they were just bits and bytes. 

But… but maybe it had been the guns, the killing, maybe they had become too much at some point. Or, maybe Borderlands had been too safe of a choice, too cartoonish, too boring, too… something. Perhaps they’d merely spent far longer on one game than they should have. Perhaps it _mattered_ that it… didn’t.

Maybe it was the guard’s fault, his voice grating after a while, a reminder of the bleak reality Gordon had simply _accepted_ beyond the TV screen.

But the pressure had returned, little by little. The descent had begun with bleary eyes staring at bright windows, thinking too much, worrying about meanings and consequences. Acknowledging once more the weight of the world, the eventuality of too many things he wasn’t prepared for, the inevitable ends. It came with the slow cramping of his hands around a controller that only grew heavier, becoming far too akin to a loose rock in his palms. 

The sensation only served to highlight the returning headache, that sinking feeling at the tip of his skull that compelled his eyes to de-focus. Eventually he stopped laughing, and the weight on his skull won. He’d reached the limit of his concentration, squeezed his receptors for all they had, and all that was left was a hollow need to go through the motions, too tired to care about the checkpoints.

That meant it was time to stop.

“what? lame. can’t even handle a real gaming sess, disappointing.”

The guard had given him a displeased glance, he recalled, but Gordon wasn’t sure what the guy thought he was owed. He’d long since taken the olive branch, despite everything, and it had devoured the last of what remained of his spirit. He’d started exhausted, and the fatigue had returned to every inch, begging him to return to his den for the winter. Not to sleep, really, though it had never really been to sleep. Just to vacillate between those two distant shores: racing thoughts and empty head, back and forth until everything else faded away.

What were they supposed to do, anyway, keep playing dumb games forever?

He’d have liked that.

“Benry, tell me again when I even let you in here?” He couldn’t compel his voice to hold any particular vigor, too focused on the mechanics of setting the controller aside and retreating back to his corner of the couch.

“uh, i came in through the back door, bro.”

“The - there isn’t a back door.”

“yeah.”

Conversation over then, no real room for any meaningful debate. It was fortunate, he didn’t have any heart left in it. He’d let Benry win as many arguments as he wished as long as the man stayed relatively quiet about it.

“what’s minecraft?”

_Someone_ couldn’t take a hint, “It’s a game for children.”

“i don’t see why you have to be so judgmental?” The guard had already authorized the transaction with the PlayStation Store it seemed, Gordon’s dismissal enough to spurn him into action.

All Gordon had managed in response was a shrug, lazily mouthing the syllables to “you have fun with that.” before allowing his eyelids to slip blissfully closed. Not to sleep, but to drowse, letting himself drift away in other ways.

He didn’t know why the games had stopped working, had honestly hoped the surge in energy would last long enough to get him back on his feet. But it hadn’t, instead only slipping away as swiftly as it had arrived, not even lingering particularly _long_. They’d only been playing for hours, he’d easily wasted entire days before, but perhaps it was foolish to think this time would be the same.

There had to be something to that, something about chemicals and the brain, a puzzle he had almost solved before being thrown mercilessly back to his starting position. But he still wasn’t a _medical_ doctor, and he couldn’t look anything up either - _Benry_ had his phone, and he didn’t have the willpower left to go find his laptop.

But, maybe there was a… point there, about doctors. Maybe - maybe he should…

No, that was an ill-advised notion. He hadn’t ever needed that before, he wouldn’t need it now. And, even if he did, it wasn’t like it was a _serious option_. Seeking out a professional when he was still so unsure of his standing, with the possibility that flashing his id would have him instantly arrested, was foolish. 

So what if things were hopelessly bleak, with no true recourse in sight? The universe was cold and unforgiving, and now he knew that better than anyone, Black Mesa was just kind enough to give him a helpful shove in the direction of understanding. What would a professional have told him that he didn’t know already - that he was _depressed_?

Obviously. He wasn’t so brain-dead that he couldn’t have gleaned that bit of wisdom by himself.

He would have liked to be happier for Joshua’s sake, though.

Maybe he would have to call back Angela, take advantage of her seemingly good tempered response to the guard and feign some illness. She wouldn’t want Joshua to come over, and he’d play his part valiantly as well - bemoan the cruelty of it all, but so selflessly confess that it would be best for everyone to stay in their respective homes. It would be a lie. He wasn’t sick, not in the way he’d insinuate, but it’d be for the better. He couldn’t even take care of himself, much less a five year old.

The thought only broke him down further, anguish spilling and splashing about his skull. The thought that he couldn’t be a good father, had honestly never been one, that he was so pathetic and loathsome that he would attempt to lie his way out of a responsibility so innate to his purpose. The reality that this was for the best, that his son only stood to _benefit_ from his absence, tore him to shreds.

Things were going back downhill, _fast_. He couldn’t do it anymore - pretend to want sleep, letting himself slip back into that unremitting darkness. There was too much pain, too many thoughts dizzy and demented. On some level he wanted it, wanted to be miserable. 

But on a more significant level, the sound of blocks breaking had been pretty distracting.

So, yes, he was theoretically watching Benry play Minecraft. And, yes, he had been doing it for some time. But it was honest, brain-dead work. It wasn’t his fault that that was what was playing on his TV. He was, as he had so often been the past few days, simply staring past whatever point lay before him. It wasn’t like he was _invested_.

“You missed some iron.”

“huh?”

“Back in the tunnel, on the right, you missed some iron ore.”

“oh, nice, thanks.”

It wasn’t a matter of being invested in anything _Benry_ did, anyway. The fact of the matter was that it was simply a relaxing game, all soft and repetitive sounds, a soundtrack that never lingered far from soothing. It did wonders for him in that moment, like a dream without sleeping, something to linger on without participation. Nothing too exciting about the visuals, but nothing that bored him into disinterest either.

And, sure, it wasn’t like Benry never talked through it, much like it had been during Borderlands. Voice grating against the otherwise peaceful white-noise - except, okay, it wasn’t actually that grating. It was just more noise, low and somewhat disinterested, steady from moment to moment. Passing observances, always pointless, but wasn’t that fitting for once? The guard didn’t even yell. Gordon hadn’t really processed that before, when they’d both been playing, too absorbed in his own machinations to focus too much on Benry’s disposition. But, no, there were no heated gamer moments to be seen, just soft spoken complaints whenever an enemy happened to catch him unawares.

Guess the block game didn’t make the guard half as upset as Gordon made him, which had some sense to it.

Gordon hadn’t really thought he made the guard _that_ angry, either. He’d figured the guy hated him, of course, but that sort of red-hot passion he’d attribute to _anger_ felt more at home in creatures with a lot less between them and the throes of permadeath. Creatures like him, he supposed. Benry’s hatred should have been colder, calculated, words and actions hand-picked to irritate Gordon as much as possible.

But he’d realized a lot about the otherworldly abomination since the day of its defeat, finally able to look back with context, and a lot of that had been weirdly, undeniably _human_. Benry was genuinely a bit sensitive, a bit frustrated, and about as immature as he’d initially pegged him as - angry wasn’t out of the question.

He remembered that Benry had explicitly mentioned that, that Gordon made him angry, but then why trail after him in the first place? To collect his passport, in theory, but that had never _really_ held up. The guard could do as he pleased, and obviously possessed the capacity to enact some degree of his will upon the world, if the skeletons and floating balls of who-knows-what had anything to say about it. So why inflict himself with a guy too stubborn to play the “game” the _right way_ ? Why keep coming back, over and over, just to ask for something he was never going to get? He’d _had_ to assume the other man had ulterior motives by the end of it all, because genuine frustration at his supposed lack of identification or morals would have been _too insane to argue against_.

Well, damn, it always came back to that, didn’t it? 

To be fair, Gordon would have done it too. He would have kept coming back, would have gone to the end of the earth and past to make his point, practically craving that anger by the end.

But he also would have yelled if a creeper blast had pushed him into lava like that.

“yiiikkkesss, fucking bummer.”

He hadn’t really taken the chance to observe the other man, not since that dark early morning. He’d changed his clothes, obviously, Gordon already knew that - hadn’t expected the sweater though, but it still looked borrowed, would have to have been. Unless, of course, the stealing-spree had continued in his absence, which was an unfortunate but real possibility. The man himself looked… _tired_ , the usual faint eye-bags even darker, a slump to his body that the guard rarely possessed.

Maybe that was it, in theory he’d stolen the guard’s resting place for the night, so it would be fair to assume the other man was exhausted. Maybe Benry would have been more excitable if he’d had a better rest. That is, again, if Benry even _slept_ , which was -

A thought he didn’t care to linger on. Since when had he given up his resolve and let go of the notion that the guard wasn’t worth thinking about? Since when was Benry the least painful thing in his life to ponder on?

He could have lingered on that thought instead, come to some interesting conclusions, reevaluated far too many things for one day. 

Thankfully, a knock on his door saved him the bother.

It was a welcome reprieve, an obligation that was simple enough to do but would still free him from the confines of the couch, finally giving him the chance to stand. Even though it was straight-forward, it still filled his hollow shell with dread, anxious about what might wait on the other side - but that was refreshing, too. At least he cared.

Cared enough to stand stock-still in front of the door, unable to breathe. Tortuous thoughts turning over in his mind, of consequences, monsters, and _people_. He was afraid, but so ready for the end of it, so ready to meet his maker and -

And he’d looked back to the couch at some point, and Benry had merely blinked back at him.

It was probably just a salesperson, anyway.

Slipping open the frame, breath shallow as fresh air seeped into the three day stale apartment, he steadied himself for the ordeal. Hand at the ready, gripping the knob as if it was his lifeline, determined to retreat to desolation at the earliest convenience. He could handle convincing someone to leave, had at least that much going for him. He doubted whatever lay beyond the threshold would want much to do with him after a scrutinizing glance, frankly.

Yet, despite his gloom, the early morning rays of a new day still greeted him, smiling and bright, welcoming him back into the fold. Too much light at first, requiring that he blink and squint awkwardly at his would-be solicitor, but soon the haze faded into the visage of a short-haired man smiling awkwardly down at him.

“Hi, Mr. Freeman! I - I thought I’d -”

Gordon slammed the door.

Oh, _shit._

Had he just -? Yes, yes he had.

He’d absolutely just punched a door directly into the face of the one man he still thought might be worth knowing.

“wow, you keep doing that.”

The regret was immediate and palpable, a resounding chorus of fuck, _fuck,_ **_fuck_ ** . His mind whirred with the jolt of it, mouth agape and fist unmoving. What a stupid, impulsive thing to do. Born of panic and shame, because he didn’t _want_ to see Tommy - he didn’t want Tommy to see _him_.

Some part of him squeaked out necessary excuses - after all, Tommy couldn’t like him much either. After all those moments, condescending and belittling, comparing him to a _child_ , Tommy _wouldn’t_ like him. But still, impossibly, there was the man at his door.

Because Tommy couldn’t have _known_.

The last time he had seen Tommy was in those brief moments lingering outside a general store, moments that Gordon found somewhat embarrassing now. But therein laid the reality, that the other scientist had no context on the heist _or_ his inevitable breakdown. Tommy thought everything was fine, because Gordon had been so utterly up his ass about pretending it was.

And now he had just slammed the door in his face.

“you gonna… do anything... or?”

Right - he - holy shit. He was frozen, eyes wide and chest pained with the throbbing, but he needed to move. He couldn’t take it back, but each hollow moment was a new mountain of shame, an exponential growth on the graph of his rudeness. His hand twisted the knob once more, repeating a pattern that was becoming a habit as he thrust the door back open.

At least Tommy still remained, though his smile had dropped somewhat, head eschewed in that little questioning way, nervousness obviously overpowering whatever emotions he had felt previously. Gordon noted that the tower of fluff at the taller man’s side seemed distinctly unamused. The searing heat should have compelled any dog to pant, mouth curled into that facsimile of a smile, but Sunkist merely stared. It was unnerving, even as Tommy’s fingers carded through the loose fur around the dog’s neck. 

But it was also deserved, Gordon felt _bad_.

“Uhm, I can - Sunkist and I can come back later if this is a bad time?”

“No!” His hands were gesticulating wildly, all pretense of keeping his grip on the door lost to their need to emphasize, “I mean - Yes! Maybe, I… am SO sorry.”

He tried to contain himself, calm the panic, focus on appearing as calm and put together as possible.

Oh god, he probably _stank_. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the encompassing desire to be clean, to not feel eyes on his unkempt hair or stained shirt any longer. But he hadn’t showered, had he? He’d just spent hours playing video games instead, like an idiot.

“I wanted to check - check if you were doing _okay_ , Mr. Freeman?” Tommy’s seemed to be having some trouble maintaining eye-contact, face pulled back in a slight grimace. Gordon couldn’t place it for concern or _disgust_. “It’s really hot out here, though, can I maybe come inside?”

A passing moment, filled with dread, painfully perceptible, “Yeah, of course, man!”

So that’s how he ended up squeezed into the alcove of his front door, sharing the space between two fully grown men and one abnormally large dog. The cramped space only emphasized how badly his skin itched, how his clothes felt soiled, how badly he had let himself fully and disgustingly _go_ . God, the unwashed dishes and week old trash were probably an issue too, huh? This was beyond embarrassing, dive bombing directly into mortifying. And the dog still wouldn’t stop _staring_.

“ _tommy_.”

Oh great, and now _Benry_ was marching over.

At least the noise seemed to distract Sunkist somewhat.

“Benry?” How was he going to explain _this_ . all ‘Oh yeah, that guy who tried to kill us all? I just hang with him now, no big deal, no issue. You see, he showed up one night and I just put up with it, because of all the flaws inherent in who I am as a person. Sorry about that, hope you’re not upset!’ And he’d _lied_ about it too, to both of them, and that was about to be _abundantly_ clear.

Sunkist’s ears were back, lips curling into a slight snarl, gaze intent on the guard as he stomped closer. Great, he was evidently not winning over the heart of the magical, immortal dog any time soon.

“ ** _tommy._ ** ” The guard was glaring up at the much taller scientist, which was at least a little funny. Gordon had wondered before exactly how much of a difference in height existed between the two. Maybe a foot? Seemed a little much, but it was _possible_.

But then Tommy was… smiling, hands waving in excitement. “Benry!” 

Oh, right, how could he have forgotten?

They were _friends_ , or at least as close to ones as those two could mutually accomplish. Tommy had told him he needed to ‘understand’ because he genuinely _liked_ Benry.

That was somehow worse than being upset.

“I’m really glad to see Benry is O.K.” The wide grin on the scientist's face as he painstakingly pronounced each letter was enough to send Gordon’s stomach into fits. Why didn’t people ever act that happy to see _him_. “And if Benry’s here, that must mean you two are becoming friends!”

“We are not - we are not _becoming friends_ , dude?”

His words were punctuated by a low growl, the massive golden retriever looking moments away from pouncing. Teeth bared, pupils constricted, something about Benry activating every territorial instinct in its body. That was _terrifying_ . Why were they talking when that was happening? There was an _actual_ beast in his home, and he was almost certain it was mere moments away from attempting to rip out the windpipes of the _theoretical_ beast that resided there.

But Sunkist was waiting for a signal.

“uh... nice horse?”

Concern and fear were plain across Tommy’s face, eyes darting wildly between his pet and his friend, “Sunkist wha - it’s okay!” Fingers back to carding through loose fur, confused patting and saddened words, “He’s not going to hurt us, it’s okay!”

Well, there was the signal. To relax, at least. But Gordon couldn’t help but feel a bit more fond of Sunkist in that moment, as strange as that maybe was.

Because he understood. Because it was nice to be vindicated.

Tommy’s concentration still stayed on his pet, little concerned movements across its pelt. Gordon didn’t know what to say, wondered if he even should say anything, but he had never been particularly good at holding back.

“Oh damn, that’s - your dog got really mad there, is he okay?”

No response. Okay, try again.

“Is that supposed to happen, or -”

“No, I - I don’t know why he did that.” Still sad, maybe just concerned over a supposed flaw in his perfect design? Gordon hadn’t had any pets in a very long time, he couldn’t say.

Benry seemed a bit taken aback, eyes shifting a little nervously, but it evidently wasn’t going to stall him, “tommy, bro, you have to check out this game made out of a bunch of uhhh… tetrahedron.”

“Cubes. It’s cubes.”

The non sequitur seemed to perk the scientist up somewhat, surprisingly. “I’d really like to Benry, but, uhm, I’m supposed to ask Mr. Freeman about his feelings?”

Oh, cool. Gordon felt like he was going to die of shame. What, had Tommy been put up to this? How pathetic was that - any meager notion that Tommy genuinely wanted to see him thrown out the window.

“no, man, you _have_ to. it’s called minecraft and it -”

“Oh my gosh…” Back to beaming, any concern for his pup locked away, “I _love_ Minecraft.”

“Hey, so -” As _loathe_ as he was to interrupt, he really didn’t want to be the third wheel in this - whatever this was, as he stood there looking like a drowned rat. “I was actually about to take a shower, before you arrived? I didn’t want to be, y’know, _rude_ , though. So. Yeah.”

“Oh! You can still take a shower, that’s fine.”

He was trying not to grit his teeth, knowing it would worsen the headache, “Well, you know, I don’t want to keep you _waiting_. Should let you get back to your, uh, walk and all -”

“It’s really fine, Mr. Freeman! I can play Minecraft while you’re showering and then we can talk after? I mean if - if that’s not intruding or anything.”

Tommy was wringing his hands a bit, one hand still on Sunkist, and there was something very genuine about that. Something a little vulnerable, which was quintessentially Tommy, even if the man _was_ a natural with a gun. Gordon… couldn’t actually say no to him. He hadn’t really wanted to see Tommy, wasn’t convinced that Tommy actually wanted to see him, but he still couldn’t say no.

It was more polite of him this way, anyway, more _tolerable_ . Letting people make their own decisions without stressing over it wasn’t his strong suit, but he could work on that. He could work on letting people make their own decisions even when they concerned _him_ , too.

“Alright,” He tried not to fret about it, let some of that nihilism he’d become accustomed to the past few days get him over the threshold, “fuck it, just don’t let Sunkist - I don’t know, tear anything to shreds?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Freeman! He always listens to me and would never damage your private property.”

He was letting too many people into his home lately, he was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was SO weirdly difficult to write, wadda hell…?
> 
> I also told myself I WOULDN’T write Minecraft, yet - yet here we are. Back in the mines. Aw, man.
> 
> BUT I have some great news! Which is that I bullied some people into making fanart for me! (jk, some very nice people from the discord server I’m in drew me some EXTREMELY CHOICE fanart for last chapter)  
> [1](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/726135495440072745/726234780789768262/20200626_093924.jpg) by [mbat](https://mbat.tumblr.com)  
> [2](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/728234471274577940/728234579974029372/consequences_of_sound_For_Rat.png) by [kiefernsap](https://kiefernsap.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And a shout out to [Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightlover/pseuds/sunlightlover) for helping me edit this chapter as well!!
> 
> Also, I’m going to try to continue to respond to all comments ASAP - though if you commented later on you probably already know I gave up on the ‘immediately’ thing preeeetty quickly. But I really enjoyed taking the time to come up with a response to each person individually last time around, so I want to try and keep that up - whether you guys like it or not!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW uh... so hey... 4 weeks huh...
> 
> Listen. Sometimes life comes at you ;-; I'm sorry for semi-disappearing, but despite all the odds, TCOS lives on.

The shower was a welcome obligation.

Not that it had been his first point of order after stumbling away from the cramped front door, god forbid. There was still some semblance of hospitality he felt compelled to hold himself to, as mortifying as spending another moment visibly repulsive was.

Foremost, he’d needed to do something about the clutter strewn about the couch. Because Tommy would likely be sitting there, and the thought of leaving a single speck of unclean in his wake filled his gut with unease. Wouldn’t want the other scientist to think him dirty, as if he hadn’t been for the majority of the time they’d really known one another - but this was different, he was supposed to have a _choice_ now.

So he’d anxiously danced about the room, dashing leftover containers into the kitchen and haphazardly tossing last night’s blanket and pillow into the closet washer, little mumbled apologies as he went. They weren’t really for Tommy’s sake, but bred mostly out of embarrassment, each minimized mess another thing he was _bringing attention to_. 

That didn’t mean cleaning wasn’t the right thing to do, he wasn’t about to force Tommy to linger in his leftover filth, especially when tidying up was so easy. Easy enough he should have done it days ago, especially with no real reason to leave the guest room blanket out when his guest was long gone.

As he’d thought until that morning, at least.

Which was relevant, because he hadn’t known what to do at first about the _hoodie_ . It still sat on his living room table, almost forgotten yet still real, and it would have been _weird_ to move everything else but ignore it. So he’d tossed it in the washer, too, to be dealt with when he wasn’t already knee-deep in his own ineptitude.

He honestly hadn’t expected Benry to notice. One moment, the guard had been hovering about Tommy in as nonchalant a way as one can while clearly trying to dodge a still bristling canine, then the next he was staring blithely directly at him. Gordon, for his part, had only offered a raised brow as he swept up the garment. It was his hoodie, even if he’d let the other man borrow it - plus, Benry’d _returned_ it. There was no reason for him to look so miserable over the situation.

But the moment had been short-lived, the guard returning to muttering to Tommy about some nonsense as the two puzzled out how to restart Minecraft in multiplayer. Idle chatter, but it’d allowed Gordon to slip away almost gracefully, letting Benry play the role of host in the interim. 

Which was appreciated, even if the nonchalant way Benry behaved as if he _lived_ there was unnerving. Distracting Tommy was an accidental nicety from the guard, something to soothe the anxiety of being observed, even as it highlighted an errant truth of the house-call: Tommy seemed far more excited to see Benry than he was to see _him_.

But for the first time in days he had a mission. He wasn’t going to let that thought pull him even deeper into a mental sinkhole, not when the other scientist was waiting.

So he showered, and tried not to think about how _weird_ that was with a guest in his apartment.

Some sentimental part of him wanted to compare it to his first shower back from hell, wax poetic about the eerie similarities, but it didn’t really fit. It wasn’t as nice, not nearly as freeing as it had been before.

But it was still good, he needed to remind himself of that.

Like patching a wound, cognizant more hardship lay ahead, but at least it was being handled. At least the water was warm, even if it bordered on muggy. The humidity intertwined with the pittering of water and tile, soothing him further into a makeshift isolation, and that was a forgotten pleasantry. Almost as blissful as he’d convinced himself sleeping was - which made it all the more absurd he’d procrastinated this for so long.

Regardless, he wouldn’t have had the energy required to scrub off as much residue as he had that night, to feel as if layers were being pulled off of him as he washed. He was just _normal_ dirty.

He actually felt kind of good about that, it was nice to be a bit normal.

He felt good about it when he pulled on clean clothes too - jeans and a button-down, actually making an effort - brushed his hair, took a deep breath. He could handle this situation, could be cool if he wanted to be, and at least his broken mirror meant he couldn’t _tell_ if he still looked like shit. There was a certain amount of optimism in that.

It still felt nice to be _clean_ , made it easier to walk back into his living room with confidence. 

He’d evidently walked in on his two guests mid-conversation, discussing something he wasn’t meant to hear if the looks of surprise were anything to go by. It was only a moment, easily salvaged as Tommy gave a small smile and short wave and Benry’s expression melted into disinterest, but he’d still seen it.

He tried to toss away any thoughts of conspiracy, but they lingered even as he nodded his head back in greeting, tying his heart in knots. Whispers, knowing looks, clandestine conversation; he was never _in_ on it. He was always just the butt of the joke.

But then Tommy was patting the seat beside him, and Gordon was figuring that there was no way out but forward - what did he have to lose, anyway?

He tried to settle into the couch, ignoring how much it bothered him to sit back down after his shower - he kind of wanted to run, wanted to be out of his apartment. Instead, he was sharing his ratty couch with a guy he wasn’t even sure actually liked him, a monster he was painfully aware he was becoming increasingly desensitized to, and some sort of dog on steroids. 

Well, in all fairness Sunkist wasn’t actually _on_ the couch, but even with that math it still made it the most bodies the couch had seen in months.

He wondered idly if Tommy had meant to sit between him and Benry, or if the arrangement had simply worked out that way naturally. It felt a bit bizarre that the two of them had been sitting so close to one another, enough of a space left beside Tommy for an entire grown man to sit. 

It was possible that space was originally occupied by Sunkist, but the dog seemed content enough on the floor by his feet. Well, perhaps _content_ wasn’t the word - Gordon was far from an expert on dog behavior, but even he knew Sunkist hadn’t been in the _best_ of moods earlier. It was probably telling that Benry and the dog were placed on opposite ends of the sofa, Tommy placed like a wall between them.

Still, the surprisingly complex interpersonal relations of a group of beings that all seemed only tangentially related to him didn’t seem like something worth lingering on. They would all be able to get out of each other’s hair if he finally got it over with, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Tommy’s head tilted in response, focused on a wood shed he was building, lips parted ever so slightly. Perfectly preoccupied with the game in a way that bordered on callous. Gordon had to remind himself it likely wasn’t intentional. It was the impression he’d given the others, after all, that he was a nagging voice that could simply be ignored. 

But he wasn’t putting up with it, not anymore. Going back to sulking would be miles better than the growing pit of social discomfort he’d found himself in, and there were only so many paths that led to reprieve.

“ _Tommy_.”

A face actually pulled in his direction - nervous and sputtering out an apology, but it’d worked. 

“S-sorry, Mr Freeman, I was distracted.” At least Tommy was setting down the controller, making an effort to actually engage in the conversation. Weirdly, something about that filled Gordon with a sudden regret - he didn’t want the other scientist to feel obligated, even as he required it. “Do you want to play with us?”

“Wha- not… really?” On some level, he was in disbelief at the sheer innocence of the question, brain doing gymnastics as it tried to piece together the conflicting atmosphere. Tommy had seen the mess, seen how disheveled he was, and he just wanted to, what, play more videogames? “Isn’t this, I don’t know, a waste of your time?”

“bro, just plaaaay.”

Tommy had said he was supposed to talk to him, right, so why wasn’t he just getting it over with? Or was Benry’s influence really such a compelling force? 

“you and me were having fun earlier, bro, i don’t get why you have to be all weird again.”

No, it was probably just that the other scientist cared a lot more for Minecraft than he cared for _him_. It’d been the same story with the Beyblades, too, unsure if he was three bit-beasts away from betrayal. It never ended, he was doomed to be the witless fool for all eternity, at least where the Science Team was involved.

But then Tommy was looking at him with slight concern, switching to an awkward smile when he noticed him looking back.

“Uhm, y-you don’t have to, Mr. Freeman, but I’d really like to play with you! Benry and I are going to build a house, though, so if you change your mind -” Tommy’s attention was being pulled back to the screen, controller back in hand. Gordon’s heart sank a bit, unsure precisely why, but certain it must have something to do with the promise of prolonged faux-socialization. “ - Benry said you can put your bed next to his!”

At least he was being invited, which did mean something, however small. “... Listen, Tommy, I have no idea why you think I’d want to put my Minecraft bed next to Benry’s.”

“ouch. you’re so mean, man.”

And so Gordon was back to quietly watching uninvited guests play videogames in his home, unsure what had led him to this. Tired, helpless, quiet - waiting until he could finally retreat away.

Maybe he could? Would the other two, so entrenched, even notice if he slipped away to his bedroom? He could hide out there until this weird get-together was over, take a nap, better to be a guest in his own home than a third wheel in whatever this was. Better to go back to rotting and let them do what they pleased, let them linger like vultures swooping over a dying calf.

The weight on his knee had come as a surprise, startling him out of his thoughts, a massive muzzle pressed atop a leg he’d only just noticed he’d been tapping. Big brown eyes blinking up at him, yawning slightly when he didn’t immediately respond.

Maybe the dog wanted to be pet, had all that staring just been over that? He didn’t even know if that was _okay_. He could remember that being a point of contention at some point, a yet unanswered question - was Tommy alright with others touching his ‘perfect’ pet? Not all dog owners would have allowed it in principal, but the peculiarities of the situation only exacerbated his concern. If Sunkist was a specimen, he’d be remiss to disturb the scientific process.

But he must have unconsciously mumbled out his fear, or made some other easily interpreted sound as his hands hovered precariously over the creature breaking into his personal space. Because Tommy was glancing to the side, startled out of focus, and looking pointedly unbothered by his proximity to Sunkist. 

“You can pet him, he’s really soft!”

Okay, well.

To be fair it _was_ his apartment, the other scientist hadn’t even asked if bringing his pet in would be fine before doing so. Not that Gordon would have denied the request, but it did put him at some advantage in any negotiations. It was within his rights to pet an animal brought into his home, right? 

He didn’t know why he was making a debate out of it, Tommy had literally just invited him to pet Sunkist. 

Maybe it was because his hands were still so nervous, as if out of practice doling out physical affections. Strange, he’d always considered himself kind of a touchy person. Why was he so hesitant all of a sudden?

But then his hand was pressing tentatively against the peak of the dog’s skull, patting awkwardly towards its neck - stalling only for a moment at the nape to register that _good god_ , Tommy was _right_. “Whoah, Tommy... your dog really is soft as fuck?”

A smile at that, eyes crinkling even as they stayed fixed on the screen, “Yeah! He has… I adjusted the micro-structure of each hair fiber for smoothness, like sandpaper on wood.”

“Oh, cool!” He was moving past the initial awkwardness, hand a bit more confident as it scratched absently behind Sunkist’s ear, “I bet that helps with density too, huh? More space for fur.”

“Well, uhm, a bit but… I also wanted to make sure Sunkist still looked like a dog, s-so it was a lot of testing.”

“Right,” Great, given the first opportunity to prove he knew anything and he’d already somehow fucked it up. He could have just asked how Tommy had accomplished a feeling of silk from waves that still appeared to bristle in a predictably canine way - but he didn’t need Tommy to patronize him. If a conversation about something as innocuous as fur would make him seem like an idiot, it’d be better to return to no conversation at all.

They sat in pained silence for a moment, the steady beat of blocks breaking the only relenting sound. 

Maybe it was only painful for him.

But then Sunkist was shifting, pushing up against his hand. Which wasn’t alarming at first, until it dawned on him what the dog intended to _do_. 

“What’s - _hrk_ ”

Suffice to say, the sensation of a two-hundred pound animal repositioning itself across the entire lower half of his torso was also _unexpected_. It’d happened too fast for him to make any meaningful attempt at holding the beast back as it pushed him further into his couch, too busy having the wind knocked out of him. 

“Jesus Christ, your dog is fucking huge, dude -” He tried his best to reposition his legs, push back the canine in as least threatening a way as possible. Sunkist only panted back, a characteristic smile on its golden face - Gordon would have appreciated less smugness. “I think he’s heavier than me? I feel like a fully grown man just jumped on me or something.”

That was enough to send Tommy’s eyes skittering back and forth between the screen and the scene playing out beside him, face a bit nervous, “S-sorry, Mr. Freeman, he’s trying to help.”

But past Tommy was a new commotion, a helmet pressed against the backing of the couch, Benry leaning back enough that a smirk could be flashed behind the taller man’s back. 

“you’ve had a lot of men on top of you?”

Jesus Christ.

He did _not_ need that, especially when he was already contending with the shame of everything else. The rising heat in his face only partly due to the heat given off by the boulder of fluff covering him, “You - I didn’t fucking mean it like _that_!”

“like what?”

“Fuck off, I’m smart enough to know what you were insinuating, man.”

“weird, i wasn’t insinuating anything.” The guard’s grin grew even wider, mocking, “you’re getting kind of defensive.”

“You - ugh, whatever, I’m _not_ giving you the satisfaction.”

Any hint of a growing good mood had been ripped back out of him, alongside the last remaining shred of his dignity. At least the lingering silence seemed to leave Benry at a loss, looking increasingly disappointed before finally returning to the game in a huff.

He didn’t know why it was more frustrating than before, the guard had certainly made far more inappropriate comments in the past. Maybe because he thought Benry had improved somewhat? He hadn’t made any remarks of _that_ caliber since they’d returned from Black Mesa, and Gordon had unconsciously counted that in the other man’s favor during his burgeoning reevaluation.

Frankly, it made him uncomfortable - the feigned sexual interest. It was the sort of joke snickered in a multiplayer lobby, typical gamer bro behavior, and it had always left him flummoxed, feeling mocked. Swimming in the angst of realizing that no one else was as impacted, wondering how he was supposed to interpret it, red-faced and embarrassed. Far too bothered by innocuous comments from strangers, alone in his dorm room, wondering what his deal was.

Anyway, he’d long since figured _that_ facet of himself out, but it seemed like all his dirty laundry was getting a chance to share the limelight recently. Add it to the pile, why not?

With Benry the intention was _clear_ , because the second the guard caught whiff of _any_ source of discomfort for Gordon, he’d proceeded to have a field day with it. Throw in a foot fetish joke or two and the guard had really hit the jackpot - all fun and games when it came to making him miserable.

But his wandering mind supplied him a contradiction, too: he didn’t actually think Benry wanted him that miserable, at least not anymore. He’d assumed the guy hated his guts, but the guard had seemed genuinely content to spend the early morning hours playing a game neither of them were even good at.

Maybe Benry was just _that_ desperate for a player two, but that obviously didn’t explain the other niceties.

So, why return to the distasteful negging?

Almost on cue, the current player two began to speak, “Uhm, Benry... I don’t think you’re supposed to mine obsidian when all you have is an iron pickaxe.”

Oh, he hadn’t really been paying attention, guess they were spelunking. It was kind of hard to see over Sunkist, but he could hear the tell-tale hiss of lava clear enough.

Was Tommy going to get his dog to move or - ?

“why not.”

“I-it’ll break, and be gone forever... I think. So you have to wait.”

It was even harder than before to see Benry, but the guard’s tone was frustrated enough that he could envision the expression, “dumb game mechanic.”

In Gordon’s defense, he hadn’t laughed on purpose, it had just sort of happened. Arms wrapping around Sunkist a bit for the support, letting himself enjoy it, “What, sorry, is _Minecraft_ too difficult for you?”

“ _no._ ”

“ _Weird_ , you sound pretty _defensive_ about it?” He tried to flash a similarly smug expression from behind the couch, but it was hard to tell if Benry even saw it, especially when Sunkist was putting a great deal of effort into trying to lick his mouth.

“Look, even Sunkist is laughing at you, man.” Gordon, of course, had no idea if the excited barks Sunkist was shouting at Benry could count as laughter, but the wagging tail felt like a good sign. Little bubbles of Sweet Voice popped out the canine with each sound, bright, high-pitched pinks settling into a dull purple as they bobbed around the dog’s owner - who was pouting quite effectively back at his pet. 

“Sunkist, you shouldn’t say that, he’s doing his best!”

“Oh my god, wait, is Sunkist _actually_ laughing at him” He was giggling at this point, that was amazing. Sunkist could smother him all he wanted, actually, the dog had earned the right - soft and on his side was a winning combination. How phenomenal after days of unremitting darkness to have a creature unabashedly support him, too animal to find him pitiful.

Tommy didn’t seem to think so, expression morphed to that of a disapproving parent, controller forgotten in his lap. “It’s pink to plum, Mr. Freeman, it means ‘he’s got you wrap-’”

Before Gordon could even process half of the other scientist’s words, Benry was practically scrambling around Tommy, face red and miserable. Petulantly rushing his words, obviously intent at cutting Tommy off at the pass, “actuallyitmeans ‘dogs are fucking dumb’!”

The expression Tommy was making at the guard was phenomenal, truly award-winning, he only wished he could see it better. Aghast and offended, certainly, but tinged with self-conscious worry, “B-Benry, do you really think that about Sunkist? He-he’s not just a regular dog, he’s the perfect dog!”

“shit.”

Gordon was laughing _into_ Sunkist now, which was absurd because it wasn’t actually _that_ funny.

Maybe he just appreciated someone else getting upset with the guard for once - well, multiple _people_ he supposed, realizing with a jolt that Sunkist’s relative sapience could be a matter of debate. Maybe he shouldn’t be petting and shoving his face into the fur of a creature that could form full sentences, as alien as the language was.

Ah, fuck it, parrots could talk and he’d absolutely hug a parrot. 

Either way, him and Sunkist were buds now, he was making that decision. Even if his fellow humans - err, humanoids - had scorned him, at least this golden retriever was still sticking up for him. The pathetic nature of that was actually somewhat funny, the notion causing him to continue chuckling past the point of absurdity. It seemed a bit ironic that Tommy’s pet would like him more than the man himself, despite everything they’d been through together, but maybe it made a certain dismal sense.

But his thoughts had distracted him from whatever had occurred between the two other men, they were back to playing - which was unfortunate, he’d certainly missed some of the guard’s embarrassment. But a thought popped into his mind, and he felt a bit regretful that it had only just occurred to him: he should clarify himself. He was trying to be polite with Benry, after all, even if the guy couldn’t be damned to give him the same honors. 

In truth, It didn’t suit the circumstance to come across as genuinely derisive, not when _he_ was the one who’d answered the door after not showering for three days. Not when he was the one who’d been played for a fool for the last two weeks, fighting for his life among colleagues who thought he was a joke. _That_ was the laughable thing, not some dumb expectation that the guard should know obscure mechanics of a game he’d never played before.

“I’m just joking, by the way -” He gave a shrug, though he hardly thought the guard would see it.“- I don’t _actually_ think you need to be good at Minecraft, it’s just a stupid game, y’know?”

No response, typical, the seconds dragging on as he waited for any answer.

But Tommy was smiling a bit at him, which was… good. Nice to see the scientist perk up after having his dog insulted - it wasn’t unusual to see Tommy a bit anxious, but Gordon preferred the other man care-free.

Probably because he still cared about the other man, however pathetic that may be in retrospect.

“Mr. Freeman, by the way, you never told me if you were okay?”

The tone shift was palpable, the seriousness leaving him a bit more hollow than he had been a moment prior. That was the million dollar question, but it didn’t really feel like a good one. He knew he wasn’t okay, even if he was supposed to be, but it felt a bit redundant to ask. As if Tommy wouldn’t be able to see how not okay he was in his eyes, as if it hadn’t permeated the air of his apartment, as if every particle that comprised his being wasn’t screaming it. 

Maybe he just didn’t know what to say, “I’m doing great, actually.”

“I-I don’t think that’s true?”

He struggled for something to follow up with, letting out a sigh when his mind came up blank. Strange that he could feel so mournful of the version of himself that could ramble on forever, even as he’d concluded it was one of his most obnoxious traits. Really, he just needed to say _something_ , “Tommy… why are you here?”

The scientist looked a bit confused, head quirked once more, “I wanted to check up on you and-”

“Dude. You’ve literally done nothing but play Minecraft since you got here.”

“I’m - sorry, I -“ Tommy’s eyes were suddenly a bit downcast, no longer looking at Gordon, but instead towards his fingers as he played nervously with the controller in his lap. Mouth wobbling a bit, voice a little unsure, “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

Well, shit.

There it was, another reason to feel horrible. Gordon wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

“No - I mean, really, it’s fine man it’s…” He could hardly muster the energy to finish the thought. It wasn’t really fine. He wanted it to be, wanted the easy camaraderie he’d shared with the other man just mere days ago, but he couldn’t really be convinced it was genuine anymore. It wasn’t Tommy’s fault things felt bleak, he knew that, the fault lay entirely on his own shoulders. He should have been able to find it nice that the man he’d fought alongside felt obligated to help him, but all his mind provided was shame. “...yeah.”

“Dr. Coomer told me what happened.” 

So, Tommy _had_ been put up to it, his heart sunk with the realization. He’d secretly hoped that wasn’t the case, that the previous wording had merely been a slip of the tongue. But, no, there it was laid bare: Tommy was only there to make up for someone else’s mistake, some sort of offering to entice him into putting up with all the bullshit again.

How pathetic was it that he wished he could fall for it. He’d already resolved himself to putting up with Benry, after all.

“He-he said he’d been calling you for days! And I know I wasn’t supposed to - he said he wanted to be the one to explain it to you but -” Oh. Tommy was quiet for a moment, obviously letting his thoughts collect. For once, Gordon could wait. “I wanted to give you some time to maybe feel better, before I told you, because someone needs to tell you. I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

He wasn’t sure if Tommy meant before playing Minecraft, or back at the supermarket. Maybe both?

“But, Mr. Freeman, I thought you knew? I mean you, uh, you didn’t even ask - and you always ask about important things…” Tommy’s voice was painfully genuine, the last statement bordering on complimentary. That… wasn’t where Gordon had expected this to go. It was honestly bewildering, a lot more information than he was used to receiving from the other man, a polar opposite from what his psyche had prepared him for.

“Wait, Tommy, know about _what_.”

The scientist grew quiet for another moment, working out his phrasing, “Mr Freeman, did you look up Black Mesa on Wikipedia when you got back home?”

The topic immediately made his blood run cold, anxiety peaking as he wrapped his mind around the question. “I mean, I checked the news. There wasn’t… anything.”

“No, not the news, it’s important you check _Wikipedia_.”

“Didn’t we…” Was there something he missed? Some lost puzzle-piece he’d been too blind to see, too busy wallowing when there was something far more important tip-toeing around the horizon. “- destroy… Wikipedia? I swear we did...”

“N-not really? Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE on 8/10/2020: Hey, so, this blows but after some consideration I don't think I can continue working on this story. Please see my tumblr post [here](https://yeahalrightdude.tumblr.com/post/626014851454599168/so-this-sucks-to-say-but-i-dont-think-ill-be) about this.
> 
> End notes from before the update:
> 
> Apologies if this chapter isn't as good as previous ones. Also sorry for the kind of abrupt cliffhanger, I'm trying to ramp back up to writing again after taking such a long break, and I ended up splitting what was supposed to be one chapter into two so that I could kinda warm up with this one - the next chapter is about half-way done so I don't anticipate a huge wait for it at least?
> 
> BUT the good news is that next chapter is the official end of the Depression Arc fgjkhgdfjkh
> 
> Also!!! The thing that sucked the MOST, actually, is that people drew me more really good art of chapter 9 like WEEKS ago and I only have a end notes to put it in now?????? PLS APPRECIATE THESE GOOD ARTISTS:  
> [1](https://kiefernsap.tumblr.com/post/623356472005427200/i-know-yeahalrightdude-is-writing-an-amazing) by [kiefernsap](https://kiefernsap.tumblr.com/)  
> [2](https://imgur.com/a/MpR46Yn) by [eternassketches/](https://eternassketches.tumblr.com/)
> 
> and another shout out to [Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightlover/pseuds/sunlightlover) for betaing!!!


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